


People and Rhythm

by peopleandrhythm



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Season 4 AU, Teen!Hope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2018-11-22 17:32:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 115,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11385006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peopleandrhythm/pseuds/peopleandrhythm
Summary: Fifteen years after the fall of the Mikaelsons, Hayley Marshall and her daughter Hope still seek to heal the wounded siblings and reconnect the family. Only one elusive ingredient in this quest remains: the venom of a Malraux wolf. As mother and daughter finally find this last piece of the puzzle in a startling place, Hope is confronted with the opportunity to do the thing she has dreamt of doing since she was a little girl: free her father from his hellish prison. This launches a chain of events that forces Hope ask several important questions: What does it mean to have a family? What role is destiny to play in her life? What exactly does it mean to promise always and forever?This is a weekly fanfiction based on The CW show The Originals. I make no claim to any of the characters originating from that show. This story begins where season three ends. It may influenced by season four, but is not based on it. New episodes are posted every Sunday at 8p EST to the Tumblr peopleandrhythm.





	1. Episode One: What Are You Afraid Of?

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess, much beloved by her family, especially her parents, a king and a queen. The princess’s family fought day and night to keep her safe, to protect her from the darkness in the kingdom. But the family had countless enemies, spanning centuries and continents. After bloody conflict and tragic defeat, the princess’s family was lost, all in one fell swoop. Only the princess and her mother, the Wolf Queen, remained. They alone bore the burden of scouring the earth for the means to make the family whole again.

This quest proved quite the challenge for the Wolf Queen, and as years passed, the princess grew. She grew not only in mind and body, but in power, for she had been blessed with potent magic. The Wolf Queen loved her daughter and raised her well, but found herself unable to finish the task of saving the family. Fifteen years have passed, and the princess is no longer a child—and for the first time since her family’s fall, she finds herself with the chance to complete the quest and save them, once and for all.

 

* * *

 

**Tallahassee, Florida**

The Monroe house is small, yellowing sideboards and a patchy front lawn. Still, it’s cute; Mrs. Monroe likes to spend what little free time she has tending to a flower patch just off to the side of the two-person porch. Her azaleas are having a particularly good season, despite the terrible Florida heat.

Mrs. Monroe is in her flower patch, floppy hat cocked at just the right angle to block out the sun, when a redheaded girl walks up her driveway. She smiles and straightens up a bit. “How you doin’, Hope?”

Hope waves. “I’m great, how are you?”

“Just tryin’ to keep these flowers from shrivelin’ up in this damn heat.” She points at Hope with her trowel. “Have you got sunscreen on? Skin like yours, you’ll burn like that.” She tries to snap her fingers, but her gardening gloves muffle the sound.

“Don’t worry about me, Mrs. Monroe. It’s just a few blocks from my house.” Hope gestures to the front door, a fading confederate gray. “May I go in?”

“Sure thing, hon. She’s in her room. Finally got her to clean out that old trunk of hers. Bet it’s mostly junk in there.”

Laughing, Hope says, “Have fun with your flowers!” and heads into the house. She knows the layout well by this point, makes a turn at the kitchen and walks all the way to the end of the hall, where the last door on the left is ajar. Inside the green and white bedroom, a girl sits cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by piles of papers and clothes and trinkets. Her back is to the door, so Hope tiptoes to her and, without warning, begins to tickle the girl’s sides mercilessly.

The girl shrieks and curls in on herself, twisting to get a good look at her attacker. “Oh my god—Hope!” She manages to swat Hope’s hands away. “You ass!”

Breathless from laughter, Hope plops down on the ground. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” Then she puts a hand on the girl’s neck and pulls her in for a kiss, which is received with a begrudging _hrmph_. After the kiss, Hope says, “I missed you, River.”

“We were at work together _yesterday_.”

“Well then fine, I take it back.”

“No, wait.” River kisses her girlfriend again. “I missed you, too.” She furrows her eyebrows, pats at Hope’s face. “Did you put on sunscreen?”

Hope rolls her eyes with a groan. “Not you too…”

“Hey, white girls like you do _not_ tan. I can go out in the sun just fine, because I’ve got that melanin to protect me—”

“Only from the sun,” Hope interjects slyly.

River snorts. “Ain’t that the truth. But for real, I don’t want you to burn. Red is not your color.”

“I have red hair!”

“Exactly.”

Hope sticks out her tongue. “My mom can tan.”

“Then you got your daddy’s skin.”

“I wouldn’t know.” They both fall silent, the mood officially killed. After a minute, Hope asks, “So what are all these piles?”

River starts pointing. “Those are old clothes that I need to donate, those are old toys that I need to donate, those are some photos and things that my mom might want to scrapbook—”

“Ooh, I love your mom’s scrapbooks.”

“Mhm. Oh, and those are just important papers that I probably should not have been trusted with.”

Hope peers at that pile. “Like what?”

“Oh, some bank statements, school records, my birth certificate. Things like that. No idea why I have any of them.”

Spying the birth certificate toward the top of the pile, Hope picks it up with a grin. “Aw, baby River. Born 3:21 am.” Hope smiles up at her girlfriend. “I was an early morning baby, too.”

River’s inspecting a shirt for any wear. “Oh yeah? What time?”

“Not sure. I don’t have a birth certificate.”

River freezes, then slowly turns her head. “I swear, your family is sketchy as hell.”

“Tell me about it.” Hope looks back down at the document, where something strange catches her eye. “Hang on.”

“What?”

Hope’s eyes dart between River and the birth certificate a few times before finally settling on the former. “This says that your last name is Malraux, not Monroe.”

River wrinkles her nose. “Oh yeah. Speaking of sketchy families…” She settles her body into a more comfortable position. “Look, I don’t know why we left Texas when I was little, but I know it was sudden, and I’m pretty sure it had something to do with our family. I just remember my dad telling me over and over, ‘You’re a Monroe now. Remember that. River Monroe.’ I was five, so I wasn’t, like, attached to the name or anything. We even got it legally changed. You’re holding onto the original.” River bites her lip. “Look, you cannot tell my folks you know about this. They will flip their lids if they found out you knew. They made me swear to keep it a secret. Promise me?”

“Yeah.” Hope’s voice is hollow, like she’s hearing it from the opposite end of a tunnel. Her skin is ashen as she stares, unblinking, at the ink on the paper in her hands. Three words sound on repeat in her head, deafening in her ears: _Malraux. Texas. Shit._

 

* * *

 

**New Orleans, Louisiana**

Vincent bursts through the penthouse doors, never breaking his stride until he reaches Marcel, who is reclined on a sofa, reading _The Times-Picayune_. “We can’t do another year of this, Marcel.”

Barely sparing the witch regent a glance, Marcel says, “Good morning, Vincent. How’s your day going?”

“I’ll tell you how it’s going. I got nine covens of witches screaming for your head. You’re supposed to keep the vampires in line, Marcel.”

With a sigh, Marcel folds up the paper and sets it on the coffee table. “What exactly have we done this time, huh? Poor attendance at the Fête des Bénédictions last week?”

Vincent takes a deep breath. “We are comin’ up on yet another anniversary of the fall of Klaus Mikaelson, and yet again hundreds of vampires are gonna flock to New Orleans to celebrate. They gonna decimate the local population, Marcel! The witches want an end to this.”

“And what exactly do you expect me to do about it?” Marcel stands up. “I don’t control all the vampires in the world, just the ones in the Quarter. And yeah, when the out-of-towners come, they tend to wreak some havoc, but my guys do our best to keep them in check.”

“Last year _fourteen_ locals were killed by members of Klaus Mikaelson’s sire line. _Fourteen_. That’s fourteen families destroyed. We been keepin’ the peace best we know how but I’m tellin’ you Marcel, if you don’t put an end to this yearly slaughter of locals, we will.”

Marcel’s eyes narrow. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you may be the biggest bad goin’ in New Orleans right now, but never forget, _no one_ is unkillable.” He turns on his heel and marches for the door. “‘Specially not in this city.”

 

* * *

 

The sun is on its descent when Hope walks through her front door, mind a million miles away. She passes the living room with her eyes on the ground, so she misses her mother on the couch, reading. “Hey.”

Hope stops, turns. “Oh hey.”

Hayley’s eyes narrow a bit, and she stands. “What’s up?”

“Um.” Hope fixes her face into something brighter. “Not much. Just gotta go get ready for work.”

“How was River?”

“Fine,” Hope answers too quickly. “You know, the same. I’m running late, I should…” She gestures toward her bedroom, and then starts to head for it. She only makes it a step before she stops herself. She turns back to her mother. “Hey, um. I was wondering. How close are we…what more do we need to get before we can, you know, bring the family back together?”

Hayley sighs, looks down and adjusts the hem of her shirt. “Hope, look, I know we’ve travelled basically everywhere trying to find the cures for everyone upstairs—”

“And I never minded, honestly.” Hope approaches her mother. “All I ever wanted was my family, too.”

With a smile, Hayley tucks a piece of Hope’s hair behind her ear. “You were always the bravest of us all, you know.” Her smile fades a bit. “I brought us here because I was told someone at the university might have information about a wolf pack whose venom we need to cure your uncles. But that lead didn’t pan out, so…I don’t know where to turn next.”

As innocently as she can, Hope asks, “What wolf pack?”

“Um, the Malraux pack. They were originally from Texas, but vampires wiped them out years ago. I’ve been trying to track one down ever since.”

“Right. I knew that.” Hope gives a fake smile. “Well, I should go get ready.” She hugs Hayley. “Everything’s going to work out, Mom. I know it.”

Hayley kisses her daughter’s head. “I sure hope so.”

 

* * *

 

“Just toss the trash and you can head out.”

Hope nods at her manager. “Sure.” She weaves her way through the restaurant, pulling trash bags from the bathrooms and the bar area to take outside. Once she’s replaced all the bags, she heaves the collected trash over one shoulder and cuts through the kitchen, where the only cook left for the night is tossing dough.

“You close tonight, Rowan?” she asks.

Rowan nods. “Bullshit.”

Hope hums in agreement and pushes open the back door, heading down the alley toward the dumpster. She twists her body around and chucks the bag atop the others. After wiping her hands on her shorts, she pulls her phone from her pocket, opens an app, and clocks out.

“Nine-oh-nine,” she murmurs to herself. That leaves too much time to think about River before bed. She heads for her car, a late 2000s Honda her mom picked up on Craigslist, but freezes when she hears something shift in the alley behind her. She spins around, fingers typing _91_ on her phone screen.

“Hello?” she calls into the darkness. Silence. She starts to turn back around, but hears another noise. “If you come any closer I will blow you straight to hell!” Hope shouts, hand outstretched defensively.

More silence, and then a quiet voice behind her: “I wouldn’t recommend that."

 

* * *

 

Hayley’s cross-legged on her bed, an open trunk facing her at the foot. Laid out neatly on the comforter is everything, all of the vials and spells and potions needed to cure the people sleeping in coffins in the attic. She runs her fingers over a collection of small glass bottles, each labelled in her own fairly messy scrawl. Six of the bottles are filled with a transparent amber liquid. She picks up the bottle labelled _1 – Crescent_ and gives a little smile. The smile wanes as her eyes fall on the seventh bottle, empty and labelled _7 – Malraux_.

Hayley heaves a heavy sigh. “Oh Elijah,” she whispers to the room. “What am I supposed to do?”

She thinks back to a day eight years ago, Hope napping in the front of the moving van as Hayley met with an old wolf friend from Appalachia, Meredith.

“I don’t know what to do tell you, Hay,” Meredith had said, leaned up against the side of the truck, her blonde hair twisted into its usual braid. “Everyone I’ve talked to said all the Malrauxs are dead.”

“They can’t be,” Hayley had insisted. “I just need one. Someone has to be left.”

“The vamps in Texas got them pretty good about four years back, so I’m told. Some kind of race war. I mean, it’s Texas, so not altogether a shocker. If any of them made it out, they would impossible to find.” She gave a small, sympathetic smile. “Sorry, Hay.”

Hayley focused on the sound of her daughter’s breathing inside the van, slow and even in her sleep. She took a deep breath of her own and said, “Thanks anyway, Mer. If you hear something—”

“I’ll call, no doubt.” Meredith hugged her friend and then said goodbye, leaving Hayley to climb back into the van. Hayley looked down at her daughter, long red hair falling across her face, more peaceful in sleep than she could ever be awake. Hayley wiped a tear away aggressively as she started the truck.

“Fifteen years and no sign of a Malraux wolf anywhere,” Hayley says to the air, empty venom bottle in hand. “I promised my daughter I would bring her family home, but Elijah…” She slides off the bed, letting the Malraux bottle bounce onto the comforter, and makes her way into the hall of their little rental home. She deftly pulls down the ladder to the attic, climbs up, and takes the few steps over to the silver coffin she has spent countless hours kneeling beside. She lifts the lid and sees him, just as perfectly laid in his suit as he was fifteen years ago.

“Elijah, I don’t know how much longer I can keep searching. I’ve been moving Hope around for a decade and a half. She’s never had a home, never had stability. At what point…” She stops, uses her thumb to catch the stray tear running down her nose. “At what point do I give up a lost cause? I love you _so much_ , Elijah, and the thought of never seeing you again...but I need to move on. Hope needs to move on.” She bring two fingers up to her lips and then touches them to Elijah’s. “Please forgive me.”

 

* * *

 

Hope whips around to see someone walking out of the shadows. She raises a shaky hand. “Stay back! I mean it!”

“Hope Mikaelson…” That gives her pause. “You’ve grown, kid. And your hair! You were a blonde baby, but damn if you aren’t a redhead now.”

“Who the hell are you?”

The man stops, hands raised in placation. “My name is Vincent Griffith. I knew you back when you was a baby. At one point I even had your uncle Finn inhabiting my body. Yeah, you and me go way back.”

“So you thought it’d be cool to approach me in a dark alley?” Hope lets some energy roll off of her, shaking the branches of the trees that line the back of the alley. “That was stupid, if I’m being honest.”

“Look, Hope, I’m not here to hurt you. In fact, I’m tryin’ to do you a favor.”

“A favor,” Hope repeats, skeptical.

“How would you like to be reunited with your father?”

 

* * *

 

River’s always loved a good night run. Sure, running during summer nights in Florida is like running through a swamp, the air thick and wet and impossible to move through, but River likes the challenge, likes the way the sweat sizzles off of her skin. Tonight it’s Kendrick Lamar’s back catalogue that’s soundtracking her run, the beat echoed in every slap of her shoes on the pavement. Her path carves a chunk out of downtown Tallahassee, under the neon lights of the Strip and through the patchwork streets of Frenchtown. She’s never afraid, even though she’s by herself at night. She feels powerful, invincible as she flies through her city.

As River approaches a well-lit area, she brings her water bottle to her lips, but despite all her tugging with her teeth, she can’t get the top open. She gently jogs to a stop at the mouth of an alley, giving herself a minute to fiddle with the bottle.

Just as she gets it open, a hand clamps around her elbow and yanks her into the alley, where in the darkness she is pinned to the brick of the wall. “Hey!”

“Hey you too.”

Her wrists held above her head, River has to strain to see her attacker’s face in the dark. The stench coming off of him is wretched, Fireball and cigarettes. She can tell he’s not that much older than her, probably one of the students at the university. She wriggles against his grip. “Let me go!” she shouts, hoping to attract attention.

Her attacker pulls her away from the wall just to slam her into it again. “Shut up, bitch. Look at you.” He brings his nose to her neck and breathes deep, and her heart is shuddering a mile a minute. “Love to get a taste of you, girl.” He grins at her lecherously.

As if on autopilot, River springs into action. She knees him in the groin, and when he staggers backward, she cocks her head back and knocks it into his. He howls in pain, and she makes a run for it—but a hand closes on the back of her shirt and jerks her backward. Her body clangs against the wall, but she rolls with it and, with a rage she has never felt before in her life, pushes the creep away from her. Eyes wide, she watches his body fly to the opposite wall, much farther than she ever thought she could shove someone, and his head cracks against the brick. He slumps to the ground, motionless.

The world freezes. “Oh god.” River forces her feet to move. She approaches him slowly, as if he might catch on fire. Trembling, she crouches, presses her finger to his neck.

No pulse.

“Oh god. Oh Jesus. Oh no.” Her breath starts coming faster and faster, and without warning, a flash of indescribable pain washes through her body, a crackling ache that shakes her to her very bones. She curls in on herself, knocking into the body, but just as suddenly as it started, the pain vanishes. She uses the wall to pull herself to her feet, looks down at the man who tried to attack her, and does what she knows best.

She runs.

 

* * *

 

Freya finds him in the garden most days. He stands among the flowers, always in bloom, and watches the artificial sun carve a path through the everblue sky. Fifteen years in and Elijah still puts the suit on every morning, but she’s been watching the cracks form at his edges for some time now. At least his stoicism is easier to deal with than Kol’s explosive anger or Rebekah’s yo-yoing between aggressive optimism and hopeless doubt.

She approaches him with quiet steps. “How are you, brother?”

Elijah takes so long to answer that Freya wonders if he even heard her. “I’m finding it…ironic that the person who brought our family together is named Hope, and yet I feel as if I have never had less hope in my life.”

Freya steps up to her brother’s side and rests her head on his shoulder. “It does seem as though the task we left to Hayley is…taking longer than we expected, but I have no doubt that after all this time she still continues to search for our salvation.”

“Yes, sister, that is the fear.”

Freya looks up at Elijah, confused. “What do you mean?”

Elijah examines his hands, avoiding eye contact. “My wish for her has always been something greater than this family’s salvation. Hayley deserves freedom, happiness…a life with her daughter. I just hope—” He cuts himself off.

“You hope she hasn’t spent the last fifteen years focusing solely on bringing us home.” Elijah’s silence is confirmation enough. “Unfortunately, brother, if I had to guess?” Freya walks in front of Elijah, forcing him to look at her. “Hayley’s desire to be with you has been her life’s purpose since you were taken from her, second only to raising Hope.”

Scoffing, Elijah starts to argue. “It is not just me she wishes to save—”

“Of course not. Hayley loves all of us, even Niklaus, and I am sure she would stop at nothing to bring each of us back. But to ignore her love for you, to dismiss how keenly she must be feeling your absence, does no justice to your memory of her.”

After his older sister’s scolding, Elijah is silent. He studies the flowers that color the garden, their elegant dance in the breeze. Eventually he admits, “There is the other fear, of course.”

“The other fear?”

Elijah looks Freya in the eyes. “That she has died in her quest to save us.”

Freya grips her brother’s hands tightly. “No. Banish this fear from your mind, Elijah. Hayley is strong and capable, and would never allow her daughter to be orphaned like that.”

“You and I both know it is not so simple.”

“It does you no good to think like this, brother. Hayley is out there, and she is fighting for us.” Freya kisses Elijah’s cheek, and then tips her head onto his shoulder once more. “We just have to have hope.”

 

* * *

 

Hope and Vincent sit across from each other in the brightly lit Dunkin’ Donuts on the university campus. It’s empty save for the bored cashier poring over an Italian film history textbook and a young guy on a MacBook surrounded by empty coffee cups.

Hope spins her own cup—frozen coffee, because even at night summer in Florida is hell—and asks, “So. How do you know who I am? How did you know where I live? Why do you want to help me find my father? How did—”

“Whoa, slow down!” Vincent raises a hand to stop her. “I’m gonna tell you everything, don’t worry.” He gives the shop a quick glance to make sure no one is listening, and then continues in a low voice. “I’m a New Orleans witch, just like you. I’ve lived in the city my whole life, and I’ve always sworn to protect it from whatever threat comes its way. That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

“How did you find me? My mom and I, we move around so much—”

Vincent shrugs. “Simple locator spell.”

“Using what?”

“The blood of your closest relative: your daddy.”

The breath leaves Hope’s chest. “What? You just—you just have _access_ to—he’s in New Orleans? Still?”

“Yeah, yeah. And I want your help breaking him out.”

The edges of Hope’s vision are starting to blur. “This is a lot to take in.”

“Well, sorry kid, but I don’t got a whole lotta time. You see, every year, right around now, hundreds of vampires come from all over the world to party in New Orleans. Vampires who fifteen years later are still celebratin’ your dad’s downfall. And when they come, they leave death and destruction in their wake. The only way I can think to get them out is to remove the thing that draws them there in the first place.”

So many thoughts are jumping around in Hope’s head that it’s impossible for her to know what to focus on. “Was he really that awful? That so many people are celebrating, still?”

Vincent is silent for a beat, nodding to himself absentmindedly. “Yeah, yeah. I don’t know what your momma told you now—”

“Nothing…concrete. I know he liked to paint, like I do. And that he loved his family. That he loved me. But she doesn’t talk about the kind of person that he was.” She inspects her coffee lid. “I guess that sort of answers the question, doesn’t it?”

Vincent reaches out to pat her hand. “Kid, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but your daddy was the biggest bad there ever was.” Hope closes her eyes, processing. “But if it helps, nothing made him more…human than you. Everyone in the Quarter, hell, everyone in the damn world knew: if there was one thing that made Klaus Mikaelson weak, it was his baby girl.”

Something hollow tugs at the pit of Hope’s stomach, so, eager to change the conversation, she says, “Okay. You need my help getting him out. How exactly do you propose we do that?”

Settling into his chair more comfortably, Vincent begins to explain. “The boundary spell keeping your father trapped is strong, but I think our power combined should be able to break it.”

“Are there no other witches in New Orleans who could help you?”

“There are, but hardly any of ‘em want to see Klaus Mikaelson roaming free, and even if they did, none of them are going to be as powerful as you.”

Hope’s brow furrows. “Me? I’m not that powerful.”

“Oh, no, see, that’s where you’re wrong. You may not be very well-trained, but if you really honed your abilities…kid, you’d be able to set the world on fire.” Hope’s eyes widen. “Not to mention the fact that your very existence is a source of power. The only child of a hybrid and a werewolf? Yeah, that’s a magical occurrence rare enough to power almost any spell.”

“Okay.” Hope looks out the window of the Dunkin’ Donuts; the campus is silent, the moon hanging swollen in the black sky. “Okay.” She looks back to Vincent. “You know I’ve never been to New Orleans? It was the one place that my mom said we could never go.”

“Well, there’s good reason for that. You almost died there more than once.”

After everything Hope’s heard in the past half an hour, the only thing she can do is laugh. “Yeah…yeah, that sounds about right.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her keys. “Alright.” She stands. “Let’s go.”

Vincent’s confused. “What?”

“If we’re going all the way to New Orleans—” She shakes her keys. “—I’m driving.”

 

* * *

 

When the doorbell rings, Hayley looks up, confused. She glances at her watch; it’s nearly eleven, which is when it hits her that Hope should have been home a long time ago. She leaps to her feet, leaving Elijah’s coffin propped open, and flies down the attic ladder. She whips open the front door, fearing the worst, and is surprised when she sees her daughter’s girlfriend, wide-eyed and a little shaky, her breath coming fast. “River?”

“Hey, Ms. Marshall.”

“I told you, call me Hayley.”

“Right.” River’s eyes slide past her, inside the house. “Is, um. Is Hope here?”

Hayley sighs heavily. “No, she’s late coming from work. I was just about to call her. Do you want…” She trails off. River’s eyes are ringed with red, and she looks as though she’s about to disintegrate. That’s when Hayley catches an all-too-familiar scent. She looks down and spies spots of blood on the strap of River’s tank top. “River? Did something happen tonight?”

With that, River’s face crumples. She pitches forward with the force of her tears, and Hayley catches her in shock. She stands in her open doorway, holding her daughter’s sobbing girlfriend, completely at a loss for what to do next.

 

* * *

 

They’re speeding down I-10, halfway to Pensacola, when her phone rings. Hope shoots Vincent a look that clearly reads, _Here we go_ , before answering. “Hey Mom.”

“Hope, where are you? Do you know how late it is?”

Hope takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but—”

“Look, I’ll be mad later. You just need to get home. River’s here and…something’s wrong.”

Hope nearly slams on the brake. Vincent’s eyes widen in warning, but she ignores him. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure. She showed up looking for you and…Hope, there’s blood on her.”

The car jerks with the force of Hope’s reaction, and Vincent’s hand flies out to steady the wheel. “Is she okay?”

“I’m going to check her out in a minute, but she just keeps asking for you. Get home, now.”

Hope is silent for a long moment, eyes staring out at nothing as trees whip past in a dark blur. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you _can’t_?”

“Tell River…tell River that I am so, so sorry, but I can’t come home right now. In fact…I’m gonna be gone a couple of days.”

Hayley’s voice is low and dangerous. “Hope, where exactly do you think you’re going?”

“…New Orleans?”

On the other end of the phone, she hears the front door open and shut, and the unmistakable sound of summer cicadas. “I’m trying very, very hard not to lose my shit right now, Hope, mostly because _your girlfriend_ is in our living room, currently losing _her_ shit. Now I don’t set a lot of rules with you, because you’re smart and you’re capable and I trust you, but I thought I made it very clear that we were to never set foot in New Orleans again.”

“I can save him.”

A moment of silence. “What are you talking about?”

“My dad. I can save him. I can bring him back. At least…” She glances at Vincent who, with wide eyes, is shaking his head no. “…that’s what Vincent told me.” Vincent tosses his hands up in the air.

“What the— _Vincent is with you_?”

Vincent rolls his eyes and motions for Hope to put the call on speakerphone. When she does, he says, “Listen to me, Hayley, you know I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to your girl.”

“Your witches have tried to _murder_ Hope more than once.”

“Fair enough. But right now we need her help, and she needs ours.”

“I’m going to go get him, Mom,” Hope says, “so please, _please_ take care of River. Tell her I’m sorry, and I’ll be home soon.”

“No, Hope, you—”

“I love you.” She hangs up, drops the phone in the cup holder with a sigh. She looks over at Vincent again, who just shrugs. Eyes back on the road, she settles into her seat, and then, without another word, the pair continue their midnight drive to Louisiana, following the moon west.


	2. Episode Two: I Can Feel My Instincts Here for You

The moon beams brightly into the bedroom, casting a bluish glow on the sleeping couple. The comforter abandoned at the foot of the bed, they’re a mess of limbs and sheets, breath coming slow in the swamp air of New Orleans. The woman, body laid awkwardly over the man’s arm, begins to twitch in her sleep, a jolting, restless motion that becomes harsher and harsher as minutes pass. Then, as the bells of a nearby church toll the first of twelve rings, she jerks awake, gasping for breath.

This, finally, wakes the man, who, once he’s gathered his wits, holds onto her shoulders to steady her. “Theo, Theo, hey. What’s happenin’, what’s goin’ on?”

Theo presses a hand to her chest, trying to calm her breathing. “I saw her.”

Confused, the man asks, “Saw who?”

“Hope Mikaelson.” Theo turns to face the man. “Marcel, Hope Mikaelson is returning to New Orleans. Tonight.”

 

* * *

 

Hayley grips her cell phone tightly and takes a deep breath. After a moment, she slips it into her pocket and steps back into the house, where River, still shaking, is waiting on the couch. “Hey,” Hayley says softly. “So…Hope…Hope’s not going to be able to come home tonight.”

River looks up, wide-eyed. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine.” Truth is, Hayley has no idea if Hope’s fine, but she figures her daughter has earned her trust at this point. She settles on the edge of the coffee table, right in front of River. “I’m sorry she can’t be here for you, but I want you to know that I am. Okay? I can tell something happened to you tonight, and I want you to know that whatever it is, you can tell me.”

River curls in on herself, bringing her knees to her chest. Her eyes are puffy and red. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

Slowly, Hayley reaches a hand out to rest atop one of River’s knees. The girl twitches, but doesn’t reject the touch. “River…did someone hurt you?”

Shaking her head, River whispers, “It’s not that someone hurt me.” She takes a long, shuddering breath. “It’s that I hurt him.”

“What do you mean?”

After a long pause, River looks up from her knees. Hayley sees for the first time the deadened look in her eyes. “I killed someone tonight.”

 

* * *

 

They’re about ten minutes outside of Diamondhead, Mississippi, when Hope asks, “So…what exactly went down in New Orleans fifteen years ago?”

Vincent’s eyes never leave the trees lining the interstate. “Don’t know what to tell you.”

Hope grips the wheel tightly. “My mom never really told me why we had to run, and I didn’t push it, because I knew it was hard for her to talk about. But I’m not really that concerned about your feelings on the subject, so…”

Vincent chuckles dryly. “You know, for someone who never knew the man, you sure sound like your uncle Elijah.”

Something hot prickles in Hope’s throat. “Um. Thanks, I guess. Look, could you just explain the circumstances that led to my father being held prisoner and the rest of my family being trapped in boxes in my attic?”

Shrugging, Vincent says, “What do you want me to say, kid? Your family spent a thousand years amassing an endless list of enemies, people who would stop at nothing to see their end. The people around them, including their friends and allies, got real tired of always being at a disadvantage against a family of unkillable monsters. So someone stood up, made himself into something bigger and badder than anything the world had ever seen. Singlehandedly took down your uncles Elijah and Kol. Your aunt Rebekah got dropped by a massive organization of vampires known as the Strix, your aunt Freya got herself poisoned, and your daddy…well, as far as I’m concerned, your daddy got what was comin’ to him.”

“See, that’s what I don’t get.” She flicks on her blinker to move around a semi. “You clearly hate my dad, which, you know, I guess I can’t blame you, considering I don’t really know anything about him, but then why are you so eager to free him? Why not leave him where he can’t hurt anyone?”

“I told you—”

“Yeah, I know, all these vampires come from all over to celebrate and wreck shop in the city. I get that. But is stopping that really worth saving him? A man you hate?”

Vincent gives her a strange look. “Are you trying to convince me not to help you get him out?”

“No, not at all. I guess…it’s just weird. Don’t think I’m not grateful. I just don’t get it.”

“Well…” Vincent looks back out the window. “There’s a lot more to the story.”

“Well then you better talk fast.”

“What do you mean?”

Hope points out the windshield. A blue sign bearing a gold fleur de lis is rapidly approaching in the early dawn light. “We’re in Louisiana.”

 

* * *

 

When River’s done describing the scene in the alley, Hayley’s heart hangs heavy for the girl. She knows all too well the trauma of taking someone’s life, has done it so many times at this point she’s numbed herself to the feeling. But she remembers being a teenager, a kid, really, and knowing that you’ve done the one thing you can never take back. “River…” Hayley moves from the coffee table to the couch beside her daughter’s girlfriend. “I am so sorry that that happened to you. I…I’m not going to tell you that it’s not your fault, because even though that’s true, I don’t think it’s going to be very helpful right now. But what I will tell you is that what you’re feeling right now, the guilt and the sadness and—and the pain, it’ll get better.”

“You don’t know that!” River says, her voice cracking. “You don’t know what this is like.”

With a sigh, Hayley replies, “Actually…I do.” River looks at her in confusion. “I was…thirteen, when it happened. A friend of mine, his parents had this boat at their lake house. A group of us went up that summer, and we raided their liquor cabinet. We all took turns behind the wheel. I was the one driving the boat when we ran into a sandbar. Someone fell out, hit his head on a rock.” She stops talking for a moment, closes her eyes. “He drowned. And it was my fault.”

They don’t say anything for a while. They sit together, listening as the clock on the wall ticks the minutes by. Eventually, River’s voice breaks the silence. “Did you feel it too?”

“Feel what?”

“Right after it happened. There was this…pain. All over my body. It was like anger and fire and electricity, all at once, all over the place. But it only lasted a couple of seconds. Scared the hell out of me.”

As River speaks, Hayley’s eyes grow wider and wider. The reality of the situation hits her like a punch to the stomach, and she has to stand to relieve the pressure. “Oh no.”

“What?” River says, terrified. “What is it? What did I say?”

Hayley paces a little circle by the entrance to the living room. “Oh River…”

“Ms. Marshall—Hayley—please, I’m freaking out over here!”

“I’m sorry.” Hayley shakes her head a bit to clear it. “I’m sorry.” She sits back down on the coffee table and looks River right in the eye. “Listen, River, I’m going to tell you something, and you may not believe me, but I promise you I am telling the truth.”

With fear in her eyes, River whispers, “Tell me.”

“River…I’m pretty sure you’re a werewolf.”

 

* * *

 

Hope and Vincent get to the French Quarter just in time for morning traffic, so Hope pulls into the first parking garage she can find and turns the car off. “Alright, sensei. Where to?”

“We’re only a couple of blocks from your family’s home. That’s where Marcel’s been keepin’ him. He used to have him in the cemetery, but the witches didn’t like having an Original around, so he moved him.”

As they exit the garage on foot, Hope says, “Marcel. That’s a name I’ve heard my mom mention once or twice. I remember once, when I was little, she told me that Marcel was like a son to my dad.” She shrugs. “Guess things changed.”

Vincent laughs humorlessly. “That’s an understatement.”

It’s still early in the morning, but already there are musicians in the street, trumpeters and guitarists and saxophonists weaving a soundtrack for the city of New Orleans. Hope can’t stop the smile spreading across her face; live music has always been a great source of joy for her, and here in these streets, among these people, she feels more alive than she has in ages. “Is it like this all the time?”

“Music is the heartbeat of New Orleans. Keeps us alive, keeps us goin’. Sure, things get real crazy ‘round Mardi Gras, but, yeah, you can hear music in these streets just ‘bout every day.”

They stop at a crosswalk, and Hope becomes enamored with a young man improvising on his trumpet. The sound is warm and bright and oddly comforting. As they cross the street, Hope says, “This is strange.”

“What is?”

“I’ve been here for, what, five minutes? But I can’t explain it. I feel like I’m…”

Vincent eyes her. “Feel like you’re…?”

“Home,” she settles on. “I feel like I’m home.”

 

* * *

 

“ _What_?”

“I know this sounds crazy—”

River pushes herself off the couch and starts to pace the room. “I can’t believe—I came here for _help_ and this is what you say to me?”

Hayley speaks as calmly as she can. “I know that this is hard and confusing and scary, but I need you to trust me right now.”

“ _Trust you_?” River’s voice is squeaky through her tears. “I _killed_ someone tonight, I can’t trust—” She cuts herself off, claps a hand over her mouth. Her body jerks with the force of her sob.

Hayley takes a few steps over to her and wraps her in a hug. “I’m so sorry, kiddo. I’m so sorry.” She lets River shake for a minute, and when the girl starts to calm down, Hayley holds her at arm’s length. “Look, I’m going to show you something, and I need you to just take it all in, okay?” River nods. “Okay.” Hayley holds one hand in between their bodies and focuses on bringing her claws out.

River’s eyes blow wide. “How…?”

The claws disappear. “Because I’m like you, River. Well, sort of. And there are a million things I need to tell you, a million things for you to learn about this new part of your life, but it is really late, and you’ve had a rough night. So I’m going to drive you home. Tell your parents…tell them you and Hope got into a little fight, and you don’t want to talk about it. Get some sleep. I’ll come check on you tomorrow. Okay?”

River nods, and then says quietly, “What’s going to happen to me?”

Hayley hugs River again, and says into her hair, “That’s something for us to worry about tomorrow. Tonight, rest.”

 

* * *

 

The Abattoir towers above Hope’s head, a beauty of brick and wrought iron that tugs at the edges of Hope’s memory. The street around her is bustling, full of chatter and music, but Hope can’t hear any of it, can’t hear anything besides the relentless pounding of her own heart. Her hand starts to move of her own accord; her fingers graze the intricate gate, sealed tight and locked with a sign that warns _Condemned_ , and she’s jolted with the force of a vision. She sees herself, barely a foot tall, in her mother’s arms. Her laughter is sharp and high, and it brings a smile to her mother’s face. Bouncing her daughter on her hip, Hayley walks over to a man in a suit, who kisses both of their foreheads.

She gasps as she snaps back to the present. Vincent puts a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

Hope nods, eyes wide. “Yeah. Just a memory.” She grips the lock on the gate, and it bursts open in her hands. She pushes inside the Abattoir, Vincent close behind. As they disappear from view, neither of them notice the figure watching them, just across the street.

 

* * *

 

As soon as the sun is fully over the horizon, Theo makes her way to the City of the Dead, where a witch or two from all nine covens are waiting for her. Annelise, from the Gentilly coven, speaks as soon as she sees Theo approach. “Is it true, Theodora?”

Theo stops before her fellow witches. “It’s true. Hope Mikaelson is on her way here, if she’s not here already.”

Dominic, a Versailles witch, says, “Five years of planning down the drain.”

“Don’t be such a catastrophist, Dom,” Theo says with an eye roll. “I’ve got Marcel on it.”

Annelise’s eyes go wide. “You told Marcel?”

“Of course I did!” Murmurs of dissatisfaction ripple through the gathering. “Look, if anyone’s invested in keeping all Mikaelsons out of New Orleans, it’s Marcel Gerard.”

“And what if we have to kill her?”

Theo looks sharply at Leanne, one of the French Quarter witches. “What if we do?”

Scoffing, Leanne says, “Theo, you’re _sleeping_ with him. You think he’s not going to know if you break his only rule and kill a teenage girl?”

“I’ve _ingratiated_ myself into Marcel’s circle of trust, if that’s what you’re trying to say, and let’s not go leaping off of bridges before we come to them.”

“Can we get back to the fact that her being here seriously throws a wrench in our plan?” Dominic interjects. “How are we supposed to enact our vision for this city if our biggest threat is just walking around?”

“Which threat is that,” Annelise asks, “the girl or her father?”

The group is silent for a moment. Then Theo says, “No. The witches have no quarrel with Klaus Mikaelson. His downfall and that of his siblings are the fault of Marcel and the vampires. If anyone is to fear him, it’s them. Our problem is Hope. She’s powerful.”

“So what do we do?” Leanne steps forward. “Obviously Hope is here to free her father. Do we wait? Hope they leave?”

With that question, a plan starts to form in Theo’s mind. “No. I have a better idea.”

 

* * *

 

The courtyard of the Mikaelson compound is trashed, littered with the debris of broken furniture and the ashes of burned things. In fifteen years, vines have grown wild over the exposed brick, turning the once-grand home into a twisted haunted house. Hope steps forward into the little patch of sunlight that still streams through; it hits her skin like a blanket, and she is drawn under by another flash of memory. This time, she’s toddling around, not quite knee-high, when she’s scooped up by a woman with long blonde hair. She hears angry voices behind her, but the woman says in her ear, “Come with me, my love. Let your silly father and uncle quarrel elsewhere.”

When she snaps to, she murmurs to Vincent, “Wow. I just saw…I’m so used to seeing Rebekah in a box. I’ve never seen her smile before.”

Before Vincent can answer, a voice sounds from the shadows. “You know, Rebekah loved you a lot.” Both Vincent and Hope spin around, searching for the source of the voice. “In fact, your whole family loved you, before I ran them outta here. Which begs the question…” Marcel Gerard steps into view from the balcony above. “…what the hell are you doing in my city?”

 

* * *

 

Theo knocks on the door of a suite in the Hotel Royale. After a few moments, it opens to reveal a redheaded man with a beard, who looks at her inquisitively. “What do you want?”

With a tight smile, Theo answers, “I was hoping we could have a word. May I come in?”

“A witch like you doesn’t need to be invited in.”

“I was being polite.” Theo pushes her way into the suite. It’s lavish, with a four-poster bed covered in thick white sheets currently occupied by a naked, passed-out tourist. “I didn’t realize you had a guest.”

The man shrugs. “Don’t worry about what you say in front of her. She’ll be properly compelled before she leaves.”

“Right then, let’s get to the point. Mr. Duquesne, you’ve been coming to New Orleans every year for a decade and a half to celebrate the fall of the head of your sire line.” Alistair throws himself into a plush chair, then motions for her to carry on. “I also know you’ve been…discussing with Marcel Gerard your continued desire to see Klaus Mikaelson not merely subdued, but dead. Permanently.”

“The bastard’s not known for staying down long,” Alistair insists. “One of these days he’s going to be free, and I will not let that happen.”

“I share the sentiment. Which is why I’m here.” Theo takes a deep breath. “What if I told you that Klaus’s only child, Hope Mikaelson, is back in this city, almost certainly with the goal of releasing her father from Marcel’s imprisonment?”

Alistair leaps to his feet. “Is this true, witch?”

“It’s true she’s here, and while I can’t be certain of her motives for returning, what other reason would she have except to rescue her father?”

Pacing the length of the room, Alistair begins to muse, “I told Marcel years ago to just bite that scum and be done with it. Sure, I like seeing Klaus Mikaelson suffer just as much as the next bloke, but this is exactly what I’ve always feared. The Mikaelson family has many reputations, not the least of which being their fierce desire to protect one another. Well, I guess it’s up to me to fix this.” He stops in his tracks, narrows his eyes at Theo. “Why are you telling me this?”

With a noncommittal shrug, Theo explains, “You have a vested interest in seeing Klaus Mikaelson dead. The witches have a vested interest in seeing Hope Mikaelson dead. I don’t see a reason why we both can’t get what we want.”

Alistair moves closer. “Why don’t the witches just kill her then? Why ask us?”

_Because Marcel will destroy us_ , she doesn’t say. Instead, “We have our own reasons for wanting this handled outside of the covens, but suffice to say that a horde of vampires from outside this city stands a better chance at defeating Marcel and his crew than we do.” She turns to make for the door. “But if you’d rather not risk it…”

She hears a heavy sigh behind her, and then, “Wait.” She turns back with a knowing smile and sees Alistair jerk his head toward the girl in his bed. “Let me finish breakfast first.”

 

* * *

 

“Marcel—” Vincent begins, but he’s cut off by Marcel whooshing from his perch above to the courtyard in front of them.

“Are you absolutely out of your mind, Vincent?” Marcel snaps. “Bringing her here? Now? When this city is crawling with twice the usual vampires?”

Vincent explodes, his voice echoing in the empty building. “Why do you think I brought her here, Marcel? Huh? Of course it’s a risk, of course I’d rather her stay far away from this place, but since you decided you were gonna sit back and do _nothing_ about the slaughter of innocents that happens every year when these vampires come to town, I decided to do something about it. So yeah, me and her gonna break Klaus Mikaelson free and end this, once and for all.”

Marcel’s eyes go wide. “You think you’re gonna—” He runs a hand over his face in frustration. “You’re damn crazy if you think I’m going to let you do this.”

“You’re talkin’ to the regent of nine covens and probably the most powerful witch in the world, even if she is just a kid. I don’t care what kind of juiced vampire you are, man, we can take you down, at least long enough to do what we came here to do.”

Marcel jabs a hand toward Hope, who’s watching the volatile exchange in silence. “She’s, what, seventeen? She has no idea what she’s getting into, no idea what kind of danger she’s in!”

“Yeah, she’s seventeen. Wasn’t that roughly how old Davina was when you decided to drag her into all this mess?”

Stepping forward threateningly, Marcel spits in Vincent’s face, “I was _protecting_ Davina!”

“An’ I’m tryin’ to protect a whole city full of Davinas! Can’t you see that? If we get Klaus Mikaelson out of this city, we’ll also get every vampire who likes to come and party over his body out, too.”

“If we get Klaus Mikaelson out of this city, how long before he comes back and seeks his vengeance?”

Vincent throws up his hands. “That sounds like _your_ problem, Marcel, considering _you’re_ the one who went and made himself the biggest threat to that family yet.”

Shaking his head, Marcel says, “No. Absolutely not. It’s not happening. Look, I’m sorry kid—” He turns to talk to Hope, but falls silent when he sees that she’s gone. “Where the hell is she?”

 

* * *

 

She feels him, feels his heartbeat like a drum, slow and lethargic, signaling his presence in the dark. She abandons the arguing men, walking softly through the corridors of the compound. There’s a door, splattered with old blood, and Hope tries the knob. It’s locked, but after a moment of concentration, she feels the lock release, and turns the knob with ease. She makes her way into the darkness of the tunnels below the Abattoir, letting herself be guided by the sense of his heartbeat. She doesn’t know why she can feel it, doesn’t understand the magic that’s at play, but knows that if she keeps walking, she’ll find him.

It’s a maze underground, tunnels and offshoots and caverns of various shapes and sizes. There are unlit torches spaced periodically along the walls, and with a wave of her hand, their flames come to life, casting dancing glows all around them. Hope follows her feet wherever they take her, surprised when she comes to a stop in front of a stretch of brick wall. This space looks fresher than the rest, not as dingy or worn. She stands back a bit, focuses on the wall. The feeling of his heartbeat is almost too much to bear at this point. Hope raises a hand out, takes a deep breath, and blasts a hole in the wall.

As chunks of brick and mortar go flying, Marcel appears, Vincent hot on his heels. They find Hope staring, unable to look away from what she sees. “Look, Hope, listen to me—”

“It’s strange.” Her voice is quiet, barely a whisper. Marcel falls silent. “You spend your whole life looking in the mirror, wondering parts of yourself are him. His hair has red in it. I don’t know why that’s so surprising. Mine had to come from somewhere. And his eyes…” Hope finally tears her gaze away from her father’s unblinking eyes. Her own are ringed heavily in red. She takes a shaky breath. “They look like mine, too.” Silence reigns as Hope looks back her father, tears streaming down her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided that, while the main venue for this story will be the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm, I will be making it available on FF.Net and AO3 as well. Episodes will be posted one week after they are posted to Tumblr, so if you want to stay up-to-date, Tumblr will still be the best place to do that. The third episode, "Wonder Where Your Heart Came From," is already available at peopleandrhythm at this time.


	3. Episode Three: Wonder Where Your Heart Came From

Marcel doesn’t know what to say as he watches this teenage girl stare in awe at her father’s desiccated body. Despite everything that happened, guilt sits heavy in his chest. He pushes the feeling down, steps forward and says, “Hope, I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but you have to understand that I cannot let you let him out.”

Hope turns away from her father to glower at Marcel. “This is how you’ve kept the man who thought of you as a _son_?”

Marcel’s eyes narrow. “Hey, you have no idea what your dad is really like, okay? He ruined this city, he ruined my life, he ruined everything he touched! I was doing the world a _favor_ when I took him down! Including you, might I add.”

“ _Including_ —you took my father from me!”

“Well like you said, I know exactly the kind of father he was, and believe me, I saved you a lot of grief.”

With a little shriek of rage, Hope pushes her hands out and blasts Marcel against a wall. “Saved me _grief_? I’ve spent fifteen _years_ grieving my father!”

After he crashes to the ground, Marcel drags himself to his feet. “And I am sorry for that, I truly am. But in the time that he has been out of commission I have rebuilt this city into a place of peace. Now that your family hasn’t been here to start a new war every other week, this community has grown into a place where people are safe and happy! I’m not going to let you change that!”

Hope juts out her chin in defiance. “And how exactly do you expect to stop me?”

“There are two main ingredients to break the boundary spell around him, and one of them only I have.”

This throws a particularly spectacular wrench in Hope’s plan. She looks over at Vincent, who puts his hands up and shrugs. “Hey, I knew this spell was powerful. Didn’t know it required special ingredients. He got a different witch to cast it for him.”

Frustrated, Hope turns back to her father. His skin is a sickly gray, the lines of his veins blackened. His open eyes stare at nothing. Hope tries to reach a hand through the hole in the brick, but it bounces off an invisible barrier.

Vincent looks at Marcel and says quietly, “You may have spent the past howeverlong rebuilding this city, and yeah, you haven’t done a half-bad job. But you and I both know damn well that for as long as Klaus Mikaelson has been in this city, incapacitated as he may be, you have never moved on.”

Marcel gives Vincent a dirty look. “Oh go to hell.”

 

* * *

 

Early the next morning, Hayley’s walking up the steps to the front door of the Monroe house. The patch of brightly colored flowers off to the side belies her true emotions; she’s a little jittery, having spent very little time sleeping and a great deal of time trying to remember how she last helped a young person who triggered her curse. She’s also at a loss of how to talk to River’s parents, doesn’t know what they know. She thought a lot about Tyler in the prior few hours, how completely out of touch his family had been with their wolf heritage. Still, she rings the doorbell once, and only has to wait about a minute before the door swings open, revealing a surprised but smiling Mrs. Monroe. “Well hello!”

With a smile of her own, Hayley says, “Good morning, Rachel. I’m sorry to stop by so early.”

“No, no, please, come in!” Rachel Monroe steps to the side, giving Hayley room to enter.

As Hayley walks into the living room of the Monroe house, she says, “I was hoping I could talk to you about something…pretty important.”

“Well that sounds serious.” Rachel gestures toward the couch. “C’mon, let’s sit down.”  As they get settled, she mentions, “I know I’ve told you this before, but I just cannot believe that you have a seventeen-year-old daughter. I swear, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

Hayley ducks her head a little. “Oh, thank you.” It’s something she hears a lot; more often than not, people assume that she and her daughter are sisters. “I actually wanted to talk to you about your daughter.” That gets Rachel to sober up. “It’s nothing—I like River a lot, actually. You know that Hope and I have had to move around pretty much since she was born, and no one has ever brought as much joy to her life as River has.”

“I could say the same thing about Hope. River ain’t shined this much in years. Though she did come home pretty late last night, said she and Hope had gotten into some kind of argument?”

Hayley takes a deep breath. “That’s what I’m here about. River…they didn’t get into an argument. I asked her to tell you that—and I am so sorry—but I wanted to be here when she told you—”

Before she can find her sentence, River appears in the doorway, still dressed her pajamas. Both mothers look up at her. “Um. Hi.”

 

* * *

 

Hope’s hand is still pressed up against the wall of the boundary spell, and she lets her energy flow around it, feeling out for any weaknesses or areas of vulnerability. As she’s doing that, Vincent tries once again to reason with Marcel. “Look, man, it’s like you said upstairs: this city is crawling with twice the usual vampires. It always is this time of year. And maybe fifteen years isn’t a hell of a long time when you live forever, but the rest of us mere mortals sure feel it. Fifteen years of having to fear going outside because the things that go bump in the night have come to town. Can’t you just let us end it?”

Sighing, Marcel says, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s more I could be doing to make sure that the locals are safe when Klaus’s sirelings show up. I’ll take that one on me. But you can’t honestly believe that letting him free is the solution to this problem.”

“Maybe not the best solution, no, but it sure is a permanent one.”

“There is another permanent solution.”

Hope’s head whips around, her eyes wide. “You can’t.”

Marcel puts a hand up to stop her. “I’m not going to kill him. You think I haven’t figured out that the rest of his family, all of whom should have been dead at this point, their sire lines along with them, is linked to him?”

“Well, then, if you hate them all so much, why not just end it?” She shrugs. “What’s stopping you?”

Marcel opens his mouth to answer, but says nothing. Vincent laughs wryly and leans against the wall. “What’s stopping him is Rebekah.”

“Alright, shut up.”

Confused, Hope asks, “Rebekah? What about Rebekah?”

“Hell, after all this time, after all the women you’ve tried to fill your bed with—”

“Vincent—”

“—you ain’t never got over Rebekah. Still as hung up on her as you were when you was a kid.”

Realization dawns on Hope, and she looks away, face reddening slightly. “Oh. Well. Okay.”

Marcel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, so maybe Rebekah doesn’t deserve to die for all the shit the rest of her family has done. So what?”

“Would you do it for her?” Marcel looks confused at Hope’s question, so she clarifies, “If it was her, standing in front of you, asking you to release her brother. Would you do it for her?” Instead of answering, Marcel runs a hand over his face. “So will you do it for me? A girl who…I guess in some ways is kind of like your sister?”

Marcel doesn’t answer for a long time. He stares inscrutably at Hope, who stares right back, eyes pleading. After a long while, he holds his hand out to Vincent. “You got a bottle or something on you?” Eyebrows knit together in confusion, Vincent digs a little glass vial out of the pocket of his jacket and hands it over. Marcel opens his mouth, revealing his fangs, and rips at his own wrist. He lets the blood flow into the vial. “The key to breaking the boundary spell around Klaus is blood. You need two different kinds: mine, and Mikaelson blood.”

When Marcel offers the vial of his own blood to Hope, she’s shocked. “Well, I’ve definitely got the second one.”

She steps forward to take the blood, but before her fingers can close around the glass, Marcel pulls it away. “Before I give this to you, I want you to promise me that you won’t take that dagger out of his chest until you are far, far away from this city. I don’t want him runnin’ around New Orleans lookin’ for payback.”

“I promise.”

Marcel slowly places the vial into Hope’s outstretched hand. “Hurry up and get it over with.”

 

* * *

 

River presses herself against the wall opposite Hayley. Rachel looks back and forth between the two of them. “Okay, what am I missin’ here?”

Instead of answering, Hayley gives River a prompting look. “Do you want to tell her what happened yesterday?”

“River?” Rachel stands up and walks over to her daughter. “River, what the hell’s goin’ on?”

Her voice thick, River whispers, “I killed someone last night, Mom.”

Hayley’s eyes are fixed on Rachel’s face as the horror of realization sweeps over it. _She knows._ Hayley stands as well. “It was a complete accident, something done in self-defense—”

“How did you know?”

It takes Hayley a few seconds to realize that Rachel’s question was directed at her, not River. “She described the feeling, the pain of the curse being triggered. I remember it.”

That makes Rachel turn from her daughter to stare at Hayley. “You’re a…?”

Nodding, Hayley finishes the thought. “A wolf. Like River.”

A sob bubbles up out of River, and Rachel wraps her in her arms. “Oh Lord. Oh my poor baby.” She rocks her back forth.

They’re all silent for a long while, Hayley watching somberly as mother comforts daughter. Eventually, she says quietly, “I just want you to know that I…took care of it.”

River picks her head up from Rachel’s chest, confused. “What do you mean?”

Adjusting the hem of her shirt, Hayley replies, “Um. The body. I took care of it. Last night, after you left. You don’t have to worry about—about police, or—”

“What does ‘I took care of it’ mean?”

“River—”

“No, Mom!” River steps away from her mother to glower at Hayley. “He was a _person_ and you just _took care of it_ —”

“River!” River falls silent. Rachel nods to Hayley. “Thank you.”

“Things are about to get really difficult and complicated, River,” Hayley explains. “Trust me, the last thing you’re going to want is a police investigation.”

River takes a shaky breath. “I don’t…I don’t know what happens next.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Hayley walks over to River, places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to get you through this.”

 

* * *

 

Hope bends down and picks up a rock from the tunnel floor. Wincing, she drags its sharpest edge across the palm of her left hand. The blood drips down into the vial with Marcel’s. “Vincent, how should we do this?”

Vincent steps up to her side, in front of Klaus’s upright body. “I’ll teach you the incantation, and then we’ll chant it together. You’re gonna have to be the battery for this spell; you’re the most powerful person here. I’ll help you channel that power.”

Hope nods, and when Vincent points to the base of Klaus’s tiny crypt, she pours the blood in a half-circle in front of them. Then she and Vincent get on their knees, unsteady in the rubble, and hold hands. Vincent takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and begins. “ _Baryè tonbe lage nonm_.” Hope joins in. “ _Baryè tonbe lage nonm_.”

They chant two more times before they’re interrupted. “Hey, hey, sh.” Hope shoots Marcel a deadly glare, but he’s staring up at the ceiling. “Someone’s here. In the compound.” He looks at Vincent. “Can she do this by herself?”

Vincent looks at Hope, who shrugs. “Well, you’ve definitely got the power for it…yeah, okay. Marcel, you and I gonna take care of whatever’s goin’ on upstairs. Hope…” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “You can do this.”

 

* * *

 

Marcel and Vincent enter the courtyard slowly. Crowded around in a semi-circle is a mass of vampires, menacing in the shadows of the decrepit compound, all of them Klaus’s sirelings. Alastair Duquesne steps forward, arms outstretched. “Marcel Gerard.”

With a cautious smile, Marcel says, “Alastair. So nice to see you again.”

“Yes, yes, it’s time once again for our annual pilgrimage to see our sire suffer as he has made us all suffer. Something we look forward to every year.”

“Can’t blame you. Klaus Mikaelson’s caused a lot of grief in his time.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Which is why I found it odd…” He steps closer to Marcel. “…that you would allow him to go free after all these years.”

Marcel looks at Vincent, then back at Alastair. “Who told you?”

“Does it matter?”

Surveying the mob around him, Marcel says, “Look, I get that it’s not ideal, but it’s been fifteen years. Maybe it’s time we all...learned to do something other than hate Klaus Mikaelson.”

“Why should you care if we continue to revel in the fall of the most hated man in history? If it has become too much of a burden for you, to keep your sire locked in a dungeon…” Alastair shrugs. “…perhaps you should hand him over to me.”

“C’mon, Alastair. You and I both know you’d kill him as soon as you were done torturing him.”

“So?”

Marcel chooses his next words carefully. “He may be the worst thing that ever happened to my city, but that doesn’t mean I want Klaus dead.”

“Well you see, Marcel Gerard…I don’t much care what you want anymore.” The vampires encircling Alastair start to shift threateningly. “We know that you plan to release Klaus Mikaelson from his hell, and we came here to stop you.”

With a laugh, Marcel says, “Hey guys, maybe you forgot, but it’s not exactly like you can kill me. Elijah Mikaelson ripped my heart out and tossed me off a bridge, and yet here I am, standing before you and telling you that _no one_ comes into _my city_ and tells me what to do.”

The vampires start to close in on Marcel and Vincent. “That may be true,” Alastair says. “We may not be able to kill you.” His gaze shifts over to Vincent. “But we can kill your witches.”

Rolling his eyes, Vincent says, “Alright man, enough of this,” and blasts Alastair up onto the first floor balcony.

There’s silence for a moment, and then Marcel says, “Well, we got ourselves a fight now,” and the vampires descend upon them.

 

* * *

 

The three women settle into chairs in the Monroe living room, each with a steaming mug of tea, despite the midmorning heat. As the optimistic sun streams in through the window, Hayley says, “I was worried that maybe you didn’t know that you came from a wolf line. I’ve known people in the past who have triggered their curses without knowing. But you knew.”

Rachel nods. “We never told River. We…we had to leave our pack behind when she was young. We thought we could protect her if she didn’t know. My husband and I never triggered the gene, so…we hoped we could leave it all behind us.”

“I understand. I had to leave my pack, too, to keep Hope safe. It’s not easy.”

“No, no it ain’t.”

Hayley sips her tea. “Well, I know how scary this is for you, River, so I am going to be with you every step of the way. Your first full moon, everything you need to know about wolfsbane and your venom and pack dynamics—I’ve been doing this a long time, like I said last night. I want to make this as easy for you as possible.”

From her place curled into her mother’s side, River gives a little smile. “Thank you.”

Rachel looks down at her daughter, then back at Hayley. “I want to thank you, too. To be honest, it’s been forever since I thought about our wolf heritage. We’re lucky to have you here. But…would you mind if I have some time with my daughter?”

“Sure, yeah, of course.” Hayley finishes her tea and sets her mug down on the coffee table. She stands up. “I’ll show myself out.” After a pause, “I don’t want you to worry, River. We’re going to take care of you. I promise.” She turns to head for the door, but then comes to a halt. “Oh, just out of curiosity: what pack are you from? I’m a Crescent.”

With a thoughtful look, Rachel replies, “Oh, the Crescents. Heard a lot about them in my day. Yeah, we’re from a line in Texas? There’s none of us left now. Lost everyone years ago. We’re Malrauxs.”

 

* * *

 

The mob is a mess, a throng of bodies falling over each other in their zeal to kill Vincent. Marcel dances between vampires deftly, cracking spines and tearing hearts from chests. Before long, the fountain in the center of the courtyard is bubbling with blood. As Marcel tosses a man up into the rafters, Vincent flicks his wrist, and the three vampires closest to him collapse, their necks snapped in an instant.

“Subdue Marcel!” Alastair shouts, shoving people toward the self-proclaimed king of New Orleans. “Subdue him and then we may tear apart the witches!”

“I think you will find—” Marcel lashes his arm out, beheading a vampire. “—that I—” Each fist punches into a vampire’s chest, pulling out their hearts. “—am not so easily—” He appears behind someone and bends their spine over his knee. “—subdued!” He grabs the nearest arm and bites down, infecting the vampire with his venom.

As he does, a few bodies go flying past him, crashing into the brick of the wall in an almost comical fashion. Marcel looks over at Vincent, who is doing his best to keep the horde of vampires from collapsing on top of him. “How much longer can you hold out?” he shouts over the din.

“As long as it takes!” Vincent replies, sending a small group of vampires to their knees, shrieking and gripping their skulls. “Shouldn’t be too much longer now!”

 

* * *

 

“ _Baryè tonbe lage nonm. Baryè tonbe lage nonm_.” Hope’s head is bowed, her hands pressed firmly against the barrier around her father. The power that this spell requires is more than she’s ever used in her life, but it spills out of her as naturally as her own breath. It’s warm, somehow, and fills every inch of her body. As she chants the words Vincent taught her, she envisions the boundary spell melting away like winter ice, granting her access to her father.

As she focuses all of her energy on the spell, she doesn’t notice the silent figure creeping up behind her. “ _Baryè tonbe lage nonm. Baryè tonbe lag_ —” She cuts herself off with a shriek as she’s yanked backward, raked over the bits of brick on the ground. Her body smashes into the opposite wall, where she crumples like a paper doll. A tall, thin vampire with short hair approaches her, fangs bared. She tries to get her feet under her but slips in the dirt. Before she can defend herself, the vampire swoops down and sinks his teeth into her neck.

 

* * *

 

As Hayley marches away from the Monroe house to her car, she dials her daughter’s cell phone number. The call goes right to voicemail, and she curses. Climbing into the car, she waits for the beep and says, “Please tell me you didn’t know. Hope, please, please tell me that you did not know that your girlfriend is from the Malraux bloodline. This isn’t us, Hope. We don’t keep secrets from each other. And we definitely don’t keep things like _this_ from each other. I just…” She sighs, key resting in the ignition. “Just…call me? As soon as you get this. I need to know that you’re safe.” She starts the car. “I love you.”

 

* * *

 

The pain is intense, sharp and ripping. Hope just barely has the wherewithal to give the vampire an aneurysm. That sends him howling in pain, and Hope is able to scramble away, back onto her feet. Recovered, the vampire lunges for her, but Hope is buzzing with so much power that all she has to do is extend a hand and the vampire freezes. Wide-eyed, he clutches at his chest, and moments later, his heart is flying from his body and into Hope’s hand. With a yelp she drops it, and then watches in awe as the vampire, a gaping hole in his torso, collapses, dead.

Hope stands there for a long minute, gasping and staring, horrified, at the desiccating corpse on the ground. She looks down at her own hands, now covered in blood, and she is unable to comprehend exactly how she was able to pull out the vampire’s heart so easily.

Instead of dwelling, she returns to her spot in front of her father. Shaking slightly, she resumes the spell. “ _Baryè tonbe lage nonm. Baryè tonbe lage nonm. Baryè tonbe lage nonm_.” It only takes another minute or so, but then she feels a ripple of energy throughout her body, from her toes all the way up to her hands. The air around her father glows for the briefest moment, and she knows that it’s done. Hope stands and slowly, so slowly, reaches out. When her fingers brush the hardened skin of her father’s face, a tiny, incredulous laugh escapes her.

Before she can do anything else, Marcel appears in the entrance to the tunnel, covered in blood. “Hope, we gotta go.”

“Jesus, what happened?”

Marcel points to the dead vampire on the ground, heart lying feet away. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Just a complication.” She gestures to her father. “The spell is broken.”

“Come on.” Marcel reaches through the hole in the wall to pull Klaus’s body out. Once he’s free, Marcel says, “Follow me. Vincent’s waiting on the other end of this tunnel. We’re gonna take you to your car, make sure you get out safe.”

“Wait, what about whatever was going on upstairs?”

“Don’t worry about it, let’s go!” With that, he turns and begins their exit, Hope right behind him.

 

* * *

 

Once Klaus is carefully laid across the backseat of Hope’s Honda, she shuts the door and turns to face the two men who helped her. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I don’t want your thanks,” Marcel says. “I just want you to get his ass out of my city.”

“You say you hate him, and maybe you do, but I can’t help but think that it’s significant that in fifteen years you never once tried to find a way to kill him without killing the rest of my family.” Marcel is silent. “You knew he was linked to all of his siblings, but you had a decade and a half to figure out a loophole so that you would be able to kill him and you didn’t.” Hope smiles a little half-smile, and shrugs. “But hey. What do I know?”

She sticks out her hand, and Marcel shakes it slowly. “I can definitely tell that Hayley Marshall raised you. You got your momma’s mouth.”

With a laugh, Hope turns to Vincent. “Thank you so much for coming to get me. I’ve been waiting…well, my entire life for the chance to get to know my father.”

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

Hope takes a deep breath and then hugs both of them, Vincent then Marcel. As Marcel hugs her back, there’s an odd expression on his face, something akin to melancholy. When she’s done, she laughs awkwardly. “Okay. Now I’m going.” She climbs into the car, turns it on, and backs out of her spot, waving goodbye as she begins her long drive home.

 

* * *

 

Hope’s just merging onto I-10 East when her mother’s voicemail plays through her car’s stereo. “Shit,” she murmurs to herself. She tells her phone to dial her mother, and within seconds Hayley’s voice fills the car. “Jesus Christ, Hope—”

“I know, I know, I am so sorry.”

“You would not believe the past twenty-four hours I have had.”

“I can definitely say the same.” She glances up at her rearview, sees her father’s motionless body. “Look, I am so sorry that I left, and I want to know everything that happened with River, but I just made it to the interstate and it’s been…it’s been a long day. And I’m calling you to let you know that I got him.”

Hayley’s silent for a long time. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

“Well, as pissed off as I am at you, I’m also really proud of you.”

A slow smile spreads across Hope’s face. “Really?”

“As annoying as it is to say it, it was a very Mikaelson thing for you to do.”

Pride burns so hot in Hope’s chest she worries she might explode. “I should be home in a couple of hours.”

“Okay, baby. Drive safe.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Hope.”

Hope hangs up, gives her backseat one more look in the mirror, and the daughter continues the final leg of her journey to bring her father home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fourth episode, "Stay Awake with Me," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	4. Episode Four: Stay Awake with Me

The sun long set, Hayley paces the length of their living room, phone in hand. She hasn’t spoken to Hope since she called from New Orleans, hasn’t wanted to distract her from her drive home. Her mind is bouncing from topic to topic—River, Hope, Malraux venom, Klaus—and she can’t keep still. Relief comes when the bright flash of headlights crosses the far wall, signaling the arrival of a car. Hayley scrambles out the front door, descending upon the car in a flurry. Hope doesn’t even have the chance to turn the car off before the door is ripped open and she’s being yanked out, wrapped tightly in her mother’s arms.

“Thank god you’re safe,” Hayley breathes into her hair. Hope tries to mumble something, but it’s unintelligible against her mother’s shirt. Hayley holds her daughter at arm’s length. “If you ever do anything like that again I will kill you myself, do you understand?”

Sheepish, Hope nods. “I’m sorry for just taking off—”

Hayley’s eyes blow wide. “You are _covered_ in blood!” She unceremoniously tips Hope’s head to the side to inspect the wound on her neck. “You were _bitten_ —”

“Mom, please—”

“I am going to kill Vincent for dragging you into this—”

“Mom!” Hayley finally falls silent. Hope grips her hands. “I am completely fine. Please do not worry about me.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ve got him.”

Hayley peers over her shoulder into the backseat. “You’ve—wow.”

“Yeah.”

Slowly, Hayley walks to the back door of the car and opens it. She looks down at the father of her child, face unreadable. “Welcome home, Klaus.”

 

* * *

 

Marcel enters his penthouse, clothes still soaked in blood. He tosses his torn jacket onto the nearest chair with a heavy sigh and makes his way into his bedroom, where he’s surprised to find someone waiting for him. “Didn’t expect you to be here.”

Theo’s outstretched and comfy on Marcel’s bed, wearing only one of his dress shirts. “Thought I’d come and see how things went with the Mikaelson girl. The witches have been in a tizzy all day.”

“Well…” Marcel grips the back of his shirt and tugs it over his head. “No one told you to tell them.”

Theo’s eyes trace the shape of Marcel’s body. “The witches share information. It’s how we’ve managed to stay alive all these years.” She gets off the bed, slinks up to Marcel. She runs her fingertips over his arm. “Whose blood is this?”

“Klaus’s sirelings decided to show up and pick a fight. They lost.”

Keeping her face unreadable, Theo asks, “What did they pick a fight about?”

Continuing to undress, Marcel answers, “Someone told them that Hope was here to spring Klaus free, and they tried to stop us.”

“Us?”

Down to just his underwear, Marcel collapses onto the bed. “I ended up helping her. I just…after all these years of me talking a big game about protecting kids, I kept one kid from having her father.”

“Yeah, well…” Theo sits beside him. “Her father _is_ a psychopath.”

“And I’m not arguing that point. Still…I’ve thought about her a lot over the past fifteen years. What she’s like. How it must feel not to have him. I’d be lying if said I didn’t have regrets.”

Theo chooses her next words wisely. “Yeah, well…I get you wanting to…fix what you broke, so to speak. But I’d be careful how chummy I got with Hope Mikaelson if I were you.”

Marcel rolls his head to the side to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“The vision I had of her? Last night? It wasn’t just of her arrival in New Orleans.”

Marcel sits up, puts a hand on Theo’s knee. “What did you see?”

Theo bites her lip. “She’s a threat, Marcel. To the balance of this city. If she stays here she will fracture the already fragile peace that you have built.”

“Care to be a little more specific?”

“Think about it, Marcel. She’s a _New Orleans_ witch descended from a _New Orleans_ wolf and one of the vampires who founded _New Orleans_. She is the ultimate weapon for the Mikaelsons to come in here and dismantle everything!”

Marcel’s quiet for a long while, mulling things over. “Well…maybe you’re right. Doesn’t matter. I sent her back to where she came from earlier today. She shouldn’t ever come back here.”

“And exactly how long do you think you’re going to be able to keep Klaus Mikaelson away from this city?”

“…If he knows what’s good for him? Forever.”

 

* * *

 

Hayley lays Klaus onto the couch as gently as she can. Once he’s sorted, still staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, Hayley pauses, looks down at him. “Fifteen years is a hell of a long time.”

Hope’s standing just off to the side. Her eyes won’t leave her father’s body. “What if…what if he’s not who I thought he was?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I guess…for my entire life, I’ve had this image of him in my head. What he’d look like, how he’d sound…the kind of person he was. I didn’t realize how…attached I’d gotten to that image until the moment arrived when I was faced with the reality.”

“Hope…” Hayley wraps an arm around her daughter. “Look, he’s never going to be able to live up to the dad you’ve built in your head.”

“No, I know that.”

“I know you do. But…just, just try to keep an open mind, okay? There’s a lot I’ve kept from you about your father, and for good reason, but if you’re going to know him, you’re going to have to get to know the bad parts, too. So I want you be prepared for things to change.”

Hope takes a deep breath and nods. “I’m ready.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Hayley lets go of Hope and leans over Klaus. After a moment, she pulls a hand back and plunges it into Klaus’s chest. Hope winces violently at the sound of cracking bone and squishing tissue, but it only lasts a few seconds before Hayley’s ripping free of the gaping hole, her hand glowing shiny red and gripping a long, curved blade.

 

* * *

 

The house trembles menacingly, with lights flickering and china rattling in the cabinets. Rebekah has to grip the kitchen counter to keep herself on her feet. Abandoning the wine glass half-full of fake blood, she calls out, “What the bloody hell is going on?”

As soon as the disturbance started, it stops, leaving an eerie quiet in its wake. Freya rushes into the kitchen, frazzled. “Are you hurt, sister?”

“I’m fine, as long as this damn house doesn’t collapse on top of us!”

Before Freya can respond, Elijah and Kol enter. Kol is fuming. “What is this, Freya? Are you trying to kill us?”

“This isn’t my doing, Kol.”

“Like hell it—”

“Kol.” Elijah’s voice is quiet but firm. He walks over to his elder sister. “Please explain, Freya.”

Her face is impossible to read. “Something has happened. In the real world.”

“Something like what?” Rebekah asks. “The only one of us who isn’t in here is—”

No one says it. Each of them is all too aware that their lives are linked to Klaus’s; if he dies, they all die. Kol says hotly, “So what does it mean? If the Chambre de Chasse is deteriorating—”

“We’d know if Niklaus was dead,” Freya insists. “Well, more accurately, we wouldn’t know it, because we’d all be dead too, so he’s _not_.”

“Then what is the cause of the tremors, sister?” Elijah asks.

With a little shake of her head, Freya replies, “I don’t know. But if something happened to Klaus strong enough to shake this place…we are either about to get very, very lucky, or very, very not.”

 

* * *

 

Hayley’s sitting on the coffee table, bent forward so her forearms are resting on her knees. Papa Tunde’s blade is still in her hand, most of the blood wiped off into the pile of paper towels teetering beside her. Hope can’t sit; she’s leaned against the wall, leg jigging with anxiety. “How long will it take him to wake up?”

“Could be minutes, could be hours. He’s had this thing in him before, but never for this long. Plus, he’ll be starving.” Hayley twists her head to look at her daughter. “I want you to prepare yourself to see him be bloodthirsty. He hasn’t had any in fifteen years, but he’s strong. If you have to, subdue him with magic.”

Hope nods, and they fall silent again. The clock on the wall is deafening. After a few minutes, Hayley asks, “Why didn’t you tell me, Hope?”

Hope doesn’t have to ask for clarification. “I didn’t have time. I only found out right before I left for New Orleans.”

With a heavy sigh, Hayley begins to think out loud. “I don’t know what to do. She’s just a kid. She’s going through the most traumatic event in her life right now, and yet…” She runs a hand through her hair and laughs humorlessly. “And yet all I can think about is getting her venom.”

Hope can’t imagine what this must feel like for her mother. For her entire life, the family entombed in the attic, the coffins chauffeured from city to city, was more idea than reality. She wanted desperately to know them, to be the _always and forever_ her mother told her stories of, but even now, minutes away from meeting her father and closer than ever to reuniting with her aunts and uncles, she can’t help but think that for her, River is reality.

Her mother’s reality is Elijah. She’s never said it out loud, of course, never said, _Klaus Mikaelson is your father, but it’s his brother I’m in love with_. She’s never had to. Hope’s always been observant, noticed from a young age the way her mother’s eyes would soften when she spoke of Uncle Elijah, the way she skirted conversation about him in favor of talking about Rebekah or Freya. Fifteen years separated from the man she loves. Hope can’t fathom the pain.

“What do I say to her?” Hope finally asks. “I don’t…this isn’t something I can _fix_ , she’s…she’s killed someone. I don’t know what to do.”

“Be there for her. Listen to her. Hope, this is…this is the worst thing. The worst thing she could do, and she’s seventeen. And to have the wolf curse on top of it…just be there for her.”

Hope’s leg stops its jigging. “And what about her venom?”

Before Hayley can answer, she and Hope are both startled by a loud, deep gasp as Klaus shoots upright, suddenly very much awake.

 

* * *

 

River’s curled up on the couch, eyes staring unfocused at the television. She’s wearing her comfiest pajamas and wrapped tightly in a blanket, even though it’s sweltering. When her mother walks in, sets two mugs of tea on the coffee table, and clicks the TV off, River doesn’t even react. Rachel sits on the couch, pulling her daughter’s feet into her lap. “How you doin’, baby girl?”

“Fantastic,” River says, voice dry and raspy.

“I know, I know.” Rachel leans forward and nudges the mug of tea to her daughter. “C’mon. Drink up. You’ll feel better.”

River begrudgingly drags herself into an upright position, keeping the blanket taut around her shoulders. “I don’t think tea’s gonna make me feel better, Momma.”

“Probably not.” Rachel waits for River to take a few sips. “Wanna talk about it?”

“About what? About how I killed a guy, or about how killing him turned me into a…” She can’t say the word out loud.

“Your daddy and I went back and forth on this forever. Should we tell you, should we not. In the end, we thought…” She shrugs. “We were runnin’ for our lives. No reason to have you grow up afraid of somethin’ we thought would never touch you.”

“I’m not mad at you for not telling me,” River says softly. “I’m…I’m mad at myself. Or, mad at _him_. I don’t know.”

“Hell, I’m mad at him, too. Puttin’ his hands on my little girl? He’s lucky he didn’t come across me, I’d’ve done a lot worse than push ‘im into a wall.”

“Can we not?” River asks, pleading. “I don’t…I don’t want to talk about him.” She brings the tea to her nose and takes a deep sniff, letting the aroma work through her. “Tell me about home.”

“Honey, we _are_ home.”

“I mean Texas. What was it like? And why did we leave?”

Rachel takes a deep breath. “Well…the Malraux pack was never really big. Always out in the deserts of Texas and New Mexico, sometimes up into Colorado. Kept to ourselves, mostly. Actually, not many of us had triggered our curses, so the pack was more of a community than an actual group of wolves. Still, they were all our family. They were just tickled pink when you were born.”

River’s surprised. “Really?”

“Oh sure! There had been a rash of baby boys born in the years before you came ‘round, so when your daddy and I had a beautiful baby girl, everyone was so excited.” She sighs. “You were right, earlier. It _was_ home. I miss them every day.”

Hesitantly, River asks, “What happened?”

“What happened is what always happens. Vampires.”

River’s eyes widen dramatically. “ _Vampires_?”

Nodding, Rachel says, “There’s a lot you don’t know about…about the supernatural world. We kept it from you to protect you, to give you a life outside of the fear and chaos. But vampires are real, and they _hate_ wolves.” Rachel’s eyes fall into her mug. “You were so young when they attacked. Descended upon our town like a plague sent from God. Tore us all to pieces. We only just got out in time.” She looks back up at her daughter, who’s looking back with fearful eyes. “You’re the only Malraux wolf left in the world.”

The reality of her family’s legacy settles on River’s shoulders heavily. Everything feels too much, a family of wolves, the existence of vampires, genocide—two days ago she was a recent high school graduate with a shitty job and a cute girlfriend. Since then her world’s been torn open and she worries she may just fall through. “So…werewolves and—and vampires. Is that it? No zombies, no ghosts?”

“Well…” Rachel sets her now-empty mug back onto the coffee table. “No zombies, but there are witches who are pretty good at bringing people back from the dead when it’s convenient for them. And ghosts, spirits, whatever you wanna call ‘em—they’re real. Magically linked between this life and the next.”

“Witches. Wow. Okay.”

Rachel’s face sobers quickly. “Listen to me, baby girl. Don’t worry about witches or wolves. They’re not your enemies. The real enemy, the ones who want to hurt you, are the vampires. They’re killers, demons, the worst monsters on this earth.”

“Why do they hate us so much?”

“Some of it’s fear. Our venom is one of the only things in the world that can kill a vampire, and there’s no cure for it. But a lot of it is just sport. We’re only dangerous to them when we’re wolves, so every other night of the month, we’re just game for them to hunt.”

River’s heart is pounding. “That’s terrifying.”

Rachel grabs her daughter’s hand, rubs the pad of her thumb over her knuckles. “I don’t wanna scare you, baby girl. I just want you to be aware. Be smart. Live your life. We’ll get through this wolf thing together. Seems like Hope’s momma’s gonna be real helpful with that, thank the Lord. But you promise me, right now, that if you ever meet a vampire, you will run away, leave them behind—or, if you can, kill them. Promise me, baby girl.”

“Okay, Momma,” River says, nodding. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

Hope’s pressed against the wall, staring at her gray-skinned father as he continues to gasp for air. Hayley abandons her place on the coffee table to grab at his shoulders. “Klaus! Klaus!” she shouts, trying to calm him down. “Klaus, it’s me! You’re okay!”

Hope sees the glint of something dangerous in her father’s eyes right before he opens his mouth, fangs bared, and lunges for Hayley’s throat. Without thinking, Hope extends a hand and gives him a short, rapid succession of aneurysms, dropping him to his knees. Hayley and Hope exchange a worried look, both of them missing Klaus’s glare at the witch causing him pain. Before Hope can repeat her spell, Klaus appears before her, eyes red with rage, and right as he opens his mouth once more, Hayley bellows, “Klaus, that is your _daughter_!”

Everything freezes. Hope’s heart is beating so fast she can hardly breathe. Slowly, so slowly, Klaus takes a step back, eyes wide and horrified as he takes in his daughter’s terrified face. They stare at each other for a long moment, Hope’s breath coming in shudders, before she blinks and Klaus has disappeared.

 

* * *

 

Hope stares into the open fridge, letting the cold wrap around her. She’s supposed to be getting blood bags, sees the opaque white plastic shoebox labelled _For Mom_ on the top shelf, but can’t bring her body to move. Instead she stands under the interrogation light of the fridge, actively not thinking about what just happened in the living room.

Because of her lack of focus, she doesn’t notice her mother in the doorway, leaning up against the jamb. “You okay?”

Hope flinches at the sound, quickly wipes at one of her eyes. “Yeah. Just, um.” She forces a hand up to grab the shoebox and pull it down. “Just getting the blood.”

Hayley looks over her shoulder, then back at Hope. “He’s back. Just went outside for a minute to…get himself together. He needs blood, though.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Hey.” Hayley walks over to daughter, rubs a hand up and down her arm. “If this is too much for you—”

“No.” Hope closes the fridge door. “No, it’s fine. Just…not the most encouraging start to a father-daughter relationship, you know?”

“Your father would _never_ hurt you, Hope. What happened out there…fifteen years without blood, in a constant state of pain? I can’t say I wouldn’t go after the nearest living thing, too. Well. Sort-of living.”

Hope nods. “It’s fine.” She reaches into a nearby cupboard and pulls down a glass. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Klaus is unsteady on the couch, staring at the swirling wood of the coffee table. His teeth ache with the need for blood. When there’s movement at the entrance to the living room, his head snaps up. He stares in awe at the redheaded girl there, white box in hand, who makes her way over to him, leaving her mother in the doorway. He can smell the blood, can smell _her_ blood, and roots himself to the couch. Hope sets the box onto the coffee table and pries open the lid. She picks up the blood bag on top, rips it open with her teeth, and pours the viscous liquid into the glass. Once it’s full, she sets it on the table, and then wordlessly pushes it toward her father.

Klaus looks at the glass, then up at Hope. Her face is unreadable. Caving to the thirst, he falls forward and grabs the glass with both hands, downing it in two gigantic gulps. Immediately the gray leaves his face, returning him to his normal complexion, his veins disappearing from view. The pain of hunger remains—it will take a great deal more than one glass of B- to remedy fifteen years of starvation—but his shaking stops, his breath comes more calmly. He sets the glass back onto the table with a heavy _clunk_ , and then stands. The tension in Hope’s muscles is evident as he rounds the coffee table to stand before her. She’s trembling ever so slightly.

Before he can stop himself, Klaus wraps his daughter up in his arms, pressing her against his chest. He can feel her breath come out in shaky gasps as her own arms move to hug him back. He can scarcely believe it; the last time he saw this girl, she was just barely toddling around, easily picked up and held. Yet here she is, a woman in her own right, falling to pieces in her father’s arms for the first time in her life.

 

* * *

 

When Hayley asked him if he wanted to visit his siblings, Klaus didn’t know what he was expecting. But as he stands in the cramped attic of this tiny home, surrounded by silver coffins, a sorrow settles over him like the darkness of night. He picks one and opens the lid. “My poor Rebekah…”

Hayley stands hunched beside the opening in the floor where the ladder will lead them back down. “I’m sorry that I haven’t finished what Freya started. I’ve gotten almost everything we need—”

“Do not blame yourself, Hayley.” Klaus’s voice is quiet. He looks away from his little sister. “You were raising our daughter.”

Hayley nods, and gives a little half-smile. “She really is amazing, Klaus. Smart and kind and talented—you should take a look at her art. Could give you a run for your money.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Klaus says with a grin of his own. He opens Elijah’s coffin. His older brother lays still and cold. “It can’t have been easy for you either, I suppose.”

“Well, being a single mom was never on the bucket list, but I like to think I didn’t do too bad.” She shuffles over to Elijah’s coffin, touches his face briefly. “Yeah. It got lonely.”

“Whatever else we must do to rescue my siblings from this…limbo, know that I will move the earth to do it.”

“Well I have Freya’s cure, and the spell to siphon the hex from the Rebekah. As for the ingredients for Elijah and Kol’s cure, we’re still missing the venom of one wolf pack.”

“Which pack?” Klaus demands. “I will find them wherever they are.”

Hayley hesitates for the briefest of moments. “Malraux. But all of my sources say the pack is extinct.” The lie feels thick on her tongue, but she can’t out River like this. “Believe me when I say I’ve been working on it.”

Klaus lays a hand on her shoulder. “We will finish this task together. Don’t forget, we make a pretty good team.”

Hayley hums in humorous agreement, and then says, “Don’t worry about Hope. Tonight…freaked her out a little, sure, but she’s been dying to get to know you her entire life. Just…give her some space to figure it all out.”

“Is that why she disappeared tonight?”

“No.” Hayley looks back down at Elijah, a wistful look in her eye. “Tonight she has somewhere she needs to be.”

 

* * *

 

Hope doesn’t even knock, just walks through the front door with a tote bag slung over one shoulder. She makes her way through the dark house, the light from the TV in the master bedroom flickering through the hallway. She stops outside the last door on the left and just gently pushes it open. Curled up in a ball on the bed is River, staring blankly at the flickering candle on her nightstand. Not looking up, River says, “Mom, I just want to be left alone.”

“Tough,” Hope answers, stepping in and closing the door behind her.

River lifts her head off the bed. “Hope? What’re you doing here?”

“I came to see you, dummy.” Her bag slips off her shoulder and onto the carpet. Then Hope walks over and sits on the bed. “C’mere.”

River lets herself be wrapped in Hope’s arms. “I’ve had a really shitty couple of days.”

“Yeah,” Hope sighs. “Me too. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for you.” She kisses River’s forehead. “Wanna not talk about it?”

“Please.” They curl up on the bed together, not talking, as the candle slowly burns out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fifth chapter, "We Argue, We Don't Fight," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	5. Episode Five: We Argue, We Don't Fight

With a gasp, Klaus jerks upright, his hand clawing at his chest. The sun streaming through the front window is disorienting; he has no idea where he is or what time it is. His fingers finally assess that the gaping wound in his chest has healed over, but it still takes him a few moments to catch his breath. His wild eyes land on a thick-bottomed glass on the coffee table, half-full with blood. There’s a pale yellow sticky note beside it: _Drink me._ With a wry smile, Klaus downs the blood, and then stands up. His body still aches after a decade and a half as a prisoner, so he moves through the tiny house slowly.

There is little evidence of life here. Boxes tower in corners and along walls. There are no pictures hung, though some are framed on tables and shelves. They’re all of Hope, at various ages. Klaus stops before one frame, several photos collaged into one image. He picks it up off the table, enraptured with the visual proof of his daughter aging up. Last night, when he saw her standing before him, wide-eyed and tall, he couldn’t imagine her as anything other than the baby he once held in his arms. But now, in his hands, he sees her at six, all freckles and missing teeth; at ten, her gangly limbs hanging out of a car window on a beach; at fifteen, leaping off a dock, her red hair a crown around her head. His eyes start to prick, and he drops the frame, suddenly unable to hold it any longer.

He hears a loud clang from the kitchen, so he investigates. He finds Hayley pouring herself a cup of coffee, pajama-clad with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. He leans against the doorjamb. “You used to drink tea.”

She turns at the sound of his voice. She smiles and shakes her mug a bit. “Yeah, well, when you’re raising a five-year-old bent on seeing every single sunrise, you learned to adapt pretty quickly.”

Klaus’s expression shifts to something more awkward. “Where is—is she…”

Hayley nods to her phone, which is sitting on the counter. “She should be home soon. I sent her a text.” She takes a pull from her mug, and then leans against the stove. “Listen, Klaus, there’s something I have to do today. I’ll be gone for a little while, but I figure that’ll give you and Hope some time to…get to know each other.” She eyes him warily. “Do you think you’ll be able to…” She chooses her words carefully. “Have you had enough to drink?”

Klaus juts his chin out. “Are you asking me if I’m going to hurt my own daughter?”

With a tired sigh, Hayley says, “Can we not do this? I’m just trying to make sure she’s safe—”

“And who else could she possibly be safer with than her father?”

Hayley takes a deep breath. “Fine. I was just checking. I need to go get ready.” She knocks back the last of her coffee and sets the mug in the sink. “Help yourself to…whatever. Honestly I haven’t gone grocery shopping in forever. Things have been a little crazy.” She brushes past Klaus to head for her bedroom, leaving him alone.

 

* * *

 

Chirping birds are the girls’ wake-up call, late in the morning when the sun is already heating the sky. They’re a tangle of blankets, one of Hope’s arms crooked awkwardly around River’s shoulders, and River’s leg hitched over her stomach. Hope creaks an eye open with a groan, and when she tries to stretch she accidentally elbows River in the neck. “Oof, sorry!” she says with a sleepy laugh.

River twists so that they’re no longer a confusing mess of limbs. Instead, they’re both laying on their sides, facing each other. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Hope places a hand on River’s face for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit. But less like shit with you here.”

Hope smiles warmly. “I am here. I’m sorry I wasn’t before, but I am now.”

“Where did you go?” River asks. “I mean—I’m not mad. It’s not like you should have expected your girlfriend to…” She trails off, leaving the deed unsaid. “Anyway, your mom seemed surprised that you weren’t coming home.”

Hope hesitates. When she and River were first getting to know each other, she told her the same lie she’d been telling for roughly a decade: her father was dead. She hated the lie, hated the way her stomach twisted at the thought of never having the chance to know him, but at some point the lie was easier to tell than the truth, and considering she never stayed in one place long enough for the lie to become a problem, she thought there was no harm being done.

River is different. River is someone she never wants to lie to, never wants to keep on the outside. But she’s also dealing with the staggering information that she is the last of a werewolf bloodline and that her parents kept her wolf heritage from her for her entire life. And Hope hasn’t even had the chance to _speak_ with her father yet, much less figure out how to talk to her girlfriend about him.

So, she hedges. “Someone—a friend of mine needed my help. He was in a…situation, and asked me to help him. Obviously, if I had known—”

“No, no.” River grabs her hand and brings it up between them. “Don’t feel bad. You’re a good friend. A good girlfriend.”

_Then why do I feel like shit_ , Hope thinks. She says, “So, my mom said she was going to meet with you today, give you a sort of Werewolf 101.”

“Yeah.” River sighs, presses her face into her pillow. “Still hard to wrap my mind around, you know?”

“The fact that you’ve been a wolf in waiting this whole time? Yeah.” Hope tilts her head forward so that her forehead is resting against River’s. “But my mom’s been a wolf, well, my entire life, and if I’ve learned anything about them, it’s that they are brave, and they are strong, and they are loyal. They’re survivors.” She kisses the tip of River’s nose. “That’s you to a T.”

River smiles and wrinkles her nose. “I can’t do this without you, you know.”

“You won’t.” Hope stretches her arms out to pull her girlfriend into a hug. River curls into Hope, and Hope says, “You’re not alone.”

 

* * *

 

Hope walks through her front door in the late morning, her bag slung over one shoulder. She drops it just inside and walks to the entrance to the living room. There she sees her father, seated on the couch, flipping through a photo album. He looks up quickly when he senses her presence. “Hope.”

She gives a little wave. “Hi.” Hope walks into the living room and sits in a chair opposite Klaus. “Um. How—how do you feel?”

Klaus looks at her as though he’s not entirely sure she’s real. “I feel…I’m fine.”

“Good.” She drums her fingers atop her thighs. “Good.”

The awkwardness is suffocating; neither of them knows what to say to the other. Klaus opens his mouth several times to speak, but nothing comes out. Finally he says, “Where…where did you go last night?”

“Um.” Hope gives a small smile. “My girlfriend’s house. I just, um. I just needed some space.”

Klaus’s eyebrows raise. “You…have a girlfriend.”

Hope raises her chin, just a bit. “Yes. River.”

Klaus nods, and they fall silent once again. Hope doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how her dad might feel about her dating another girl. Quietness squeezes both of them like a vice. Once it becomes truly unbearable, Hope points to the photo album. “Mom made that.”

Klaus looks down. “Oh?”

“Yeah. We were moving around a lot, but she always made sure to take a lot of pictures. You know, to show everyone. She didn’t know…you know. How long it would take. To get everyone back together.” She smiles wryly. “Guess she didn’t expect it to be fifteen years.”

Klaus flips through a few more pages of the album. “So many years…” He stops at a page full of pictures from their time in upstate New York. Many feature Hope, roughly eight years old, in her bright yellow swimsuit, swimming in Lake George. “You look happy.”

“We were. We are.” Klaus looks back up at his daughter. “Moving around wasn’t, like, a blast, but…I met a lot of really amazing people, all over the country, plus Canada. And I had my mom. I always knew that as long as I had her, I would be okay.” She pauses. “But I did always wonder. You know, what it would be like? To have that family, the Mikaelson family that Mom told me about? Sometimes it really felt like I was missing out.”

Klaus’s eyes are large and watery. “It was my doing. My actions, my… _hubris_ were what tore this family apart.”

“No, Dad—” Hope’s up in a flash, moving to sit beside her father. She grabs his hand, and his eyes blow even wider. “I don’t blame you for this. I don’t blame any of you. I don’t even blame Marcel.”

“Marcel—”

“Because it doesn’t matter. Who did what or why or when. I just…” She sighs. “I have you back. For the first time in my life I have a dad. Can we just…can that be enough for now?”

Klaus nods and pulls Hope into hug. He rests his chin atop her head and closes his eyes, the happiest he can remember himself being in well over fifteen years.

 

* * *

 

Hayley’s waiting for her in a little coffee shop, a steaming mug in her hand. When River walks through the door to the chime of a tiny bell, Hayley waves her over. River approaches slowly. “Hi.”

“Hi. Do you want anything to drink? My treat.”

River shakes her head. “I’m already pretty nervous.” She pulls out her chair and sits down. “Don’t really need the caffeine.”

Hayley smiles sympathetically. “Yeah, I bet. I’m glad you agreed to meet with me.”

“I’m glad you offered to help me. Otherwise I’d be pretty screwed come the next full moon.”

“I know what it’s like to do this on your own. No one deserves that.”

Taking a deep breath, River says, “So! What’re the basics of…” She glances about furtively, then whispers, “… _being a werewolf_?”

Hayley laughs a little. “Well, generally speaking, it’s not the thing we should be talking about in public. But I figured you might be a little freaked out if I asked you to meet me somewhere like the Greenway,” she says, referring to a popular hiking spot in town.

River’s eyes widen. “Is that where you go to turn?”

“Um.” Hayley hesitates. Truth be told, she’s only turned once since moving to Tallahassee. Since she’s a hybrid, she doesn’t have to turn at the moon; instead, she’ll choose to become the wolf when she needs the time to clear her head. The last time she’d gone out to the woods at night was months ago, when her last lead on the Malraux bloodline turned up nothing. But she doesn’t want to tell River that she doesn’t have to turn, doesn’t want her to feel even more isolated. So she says, “Yeah. There are a lot of acres, plenty of places to roam, and it’s safe.”

“Is that where I should go?”

“No.” River looks disappointed, so Hayley explains. “Listen, River, the first time you turn, hell, the first few dozen times you turn, you are not going to be able to control anything. You are going to be a wild, bloodthirsty beast, so for your safety and everyone else’s, you’re going to have to be chained up.”

“Chained up?” The thought makes River look sick. “That sounds…”

“It sucks. Like, really sucks. A lot of being a wolf sucks. The chains, and the time it takes out of your life, and the pain—”

“Pain?” River’s voice is small. “What pain?”

Hayley sighs. This is the part she’s been dreading. “The turning process…it’s not just—” She snaps her fingers. “—and you’re a wolf. It’s…long, and it’s agonizing. Every bone in your body has to break so that you can…become the wolf.” River’s face has gone ashen, and she looks like she’s going to throw up. “The first time is the worst. It gets easier as months go by, but…” Hayley reaches across the table to grab River’s hand. “I don’t want to scare you, River. I just want you to be aware of what you’re in for.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” River whispers.

Hayley squeezes her hand. “You can. I know you can. You are strong, River. You are a _wolf_. That’s not nothing.”

“I don’t _feel_ strong,” River insists. “I _feel_ like a kid about to…I don’t know, go into a war zone.”

“It’s not a bad analogy, actually.” Hayley smiles softly. “Look, I know that for me, I’ve always felt my strongest around my pack. For a while, my pack was a group of wolves in the Appalachian Mountains I was running with for a while. Then it was the Crescents, the pack I was born in. It’s still them, but it’s also Hope, and the rest of her family. Your pack are the people who matter to you, the people who make you feel safe and loved.”

“Like my parents.”

“Exactly. And if you’d like, I can be a part of your pack. I can be a person you come to when the shit starts to hit the fan.”

River laughs, rubs at her eyes a bit. “Yeah. Yeah, that would nice. Wow, you’re good at this. Both making me feel better and being a wolf.”

“Well…” Hayley leans back in her chair. “I’ve been both a wolf and a mom for a long time. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

River’s brows knit in confusion. “Yeah, that’s something I was wondering about. I looked up the lunar calendar this morning, to see when I would turn? And I realized that during the last full moon, I was at your house. You definitely didn’t turn into a wolf. That I would have noticed.”

That catches Hayley by surprise. _Well, fuck it_. “That’s because…I’m a wolf, but I’m not quite a wolf like you are.”

“What do you mean? Because you’re from a different pack?”

“No, um. I’m a hybrid.”

River stares at her blankly. “A hybrid of what?”

“I’m half wolf…half vampire.”

River feels like she’s been punched in the gut. A little gasp escapes her, and she shakes her head. “I—I don’t know—” Her mother’s words echo in her ear: _You promise me, right now, that if you ever meet a vampire, you will run away, leave them behind—or, if you can, kill them._

River jerks to her feet, her chair squeaking harshly along the floor. “I have to go.”

Hayley looks concerned. “River?”

“I’m sorry.” She backs out of the coffee shop, eyes wide, until she disappears through the door, leaving a little jingle of the bell in her wake.

 

* * *

 

Hope sits cross-legged on the floor of the attic, wedged between Freya and Rebekah’s open coffins. Klaus rests against Kol’s, looking down at his sisters. “Did your mother tell you that you spent the first months of your life with your aunt Rebekah?”

“Yeah. She told me that you guys had to fake my death to keep me safe.” She pauses. “Was it really that dangerous? Living in New Orleans, back then?”

“That city would have seen your death,” Klaus says gravely. “Witches who wanted to sacrifice you for power, vampires who could use you to get to me, wolves who sought to overthrow your mother. It nearly killed me, handing you over to Rebekah. But we knew you would be safest with her, at least for the while you needed to stay hidden.”

“I had a vision of her.” Klaus tilts his head, intrigued. “In our family home, when I went there to get you. I had this brief flash of her.” Hope smiles. “It was a happy memory.”

“Our family created many happy memories in that home. We created many terrible ones, too. It is my hope that one day I may return you there, introduce you to the city that gave you life.”

Hope wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know. It seems weird, to be tied to one place. I know I was born there, that it’s an important part of my life, but…I’ve lived everywhere. I kind of stopped getting sentimental a long time ago.” A pensive look crosses her face. “That being said…I felt something, when I was there. This…belonging? I don’t know if that makes sense. It was a feeling like…” She struggled to find the right word.

“Home,” Klaus supplies. “It felt like your home.”

“Yeah,” Hope breathes. Silence reigns as the moment lingers, but Hope breaks it by saying, “Tell me a story about Uncle Elijah.”

Klaus makes a face. “Surely your mother has spoken of Elijah often enough.”

Shaking her head, Hope says, “Mom doesn’t talk about him much. I mean, I’m not stupid. I know she loved him. Loves him.”

Klaus laughs. “Oh you _are_ a Mikaelson, aren’t you?” He sighs and looks over at his elder brother’s closed casket. “It’s true, your mother and my brother loved each other. I’m certain Elijah loved her from the moment he saw her, which was, among other things, annoying.” Hope grins. “Truth be told I have my brother to thank for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I…wasn’t the most receptive when I was confronted with a pregnant werewolf girl I knew once. I thought the entire ordeal was a trap, a charade concocted by my enemies seeking to weaken and destroy me. But Elijah…the noble Elijah, always the smartest of us all, saw you for what you were.”

“And what was that?”

Klaus smiles down at his daughter. “Our family’s hope.”

The emotion gets caught in Hope’s throat, threatens to choke her with its intensity. All she can manage is a quiet, “Oh.”

“So your uncle did what he always does best: he forced me to step up, to do the right thing, the noble thing.” Klaus kneels down, right in front of her. He places his hands on her cheeks. “And nothing I do can ever repay him for making me see that you are the greatest joy I will ever know in this long, long life.” He kisses her forehead tenderly.

The tears come hot and fast, and Hope wipes at them furiously. Klaus tugs her into his arms again. As Hope works on pulling herself together, she says quietly, “I want to bring them back. All of them. I want my family.”

“I will stop at nothing to make it so,” Klaus vows. “Your mother tells me the Malraux bloodline is dead, but I will find a way to save Elijah and Kol without its venom. I will fix what we broke, this I promise you.”

Hope stiffens in her father’s arms. The reality of her dilemma washes over her once again; she needs River to heal her shattered family, but the last thing she wants to do is drag her girlfriend into this dangerous world. So, like a coward, she pulls away from her father and says, “Come on. I can show you more photos.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a loud banging at the door, and Hope looks up, confused. She stands, leaving her father on the couch, surrounded by a sea of photos. “Hang on,” she says, “I’ll get it.”

She opens the door, and River pushes past her. “What the hell, Hope?”

Hope closes the door. “I could ask you the same thing. Is something wrong?”

“ _Wrong_?” River’s eyes flash dangerously. “Why didn’t you tell me that your mom is a _vampire_?”

Hope’s face grows grim. “River—”

“I mean seriously, Hope, what the _hell_.”

“Is there a problem?”

River whips around to see a man she doesn’t recognize leaning against the entrance to the living room. “Um.”

Hope moves to stand by Klaus. “Uh, Dad…” River’s eyes grow impossibly wide. “This is my girlfriend, River.”

 

* * *

 

“Why the hell is _your father_ in your living room?” River stands in the middle of Hope’s bedroom, hands curled into fists at her side.

Hope paces a little, her own hands a fluttering mess. “I—I didn’t mean to lie to you—”

“Didn’t mean to _lie_ to me? You told me he was _dead_!”

“No, I mean—it was a lie I’ve been telling for years!”

“Is that supposed to make it _better_?”

“No, no, I don’t mean—” Hope steps closer to River and tries to grab her hand, but River jerks it away. “Look, my dad’s been gone my entire life. What was I supposed to say, that he was the prisoner of some über-vampire in New Orleans? And I didn’t want to tell people that he abandoned us because that wasn’t true, and he didn’t deserve that! Telling people…telling people that he was dead was just…easier.”

“And what about me?” River’s eyes are brimming with tears. “I’m not just some person, I’m your _girlfriend_.”

“I know, I know, and I’m _sorry_ , but you _weren’t_ my girlfriend at first. Everywhere we go, we don’t stay long, so I never have time for the lie to catch up with me. But then there was you, and even though I was, like, head over heels from the minute I saw you, it wasn’t like I could just tell you the truth. I didn’t know if I could trust you, or how long we’d even been in this town.”

River buries her face in her hands for a moment, and then says, “And what about your mom, huh? When were you going to tell me that she’s some werewolf-vampire hybrid?”

Hope bites her lip. “That wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“And your dad? What’s he?”

Quietly, Hope answers, “He’s a hybrid, too.”

River barks a laugh, loud and derisive. “So both your parents are half-vampire, half-werewolf. So what in the hell does that make you?”

Hope swallows thickly, on the verge of tears. “I’m a witch.”

“Oh, of course!” Now River starts to pace, her hands moving wildly as she talks. “Of course, what else could you be? Two halves of a vampire plus two halves of a wolf make a witch, obviously. Can’t believe I didn’t put that together myself.”

“Will you calm down, please?” Hope begs.

“ _Do not tell me to calm down!_ ” River snaps. “Do you have _any_ idea how this feels? To find out that your girlfriend is a part of some crazy mixed-up supernatural family? And god, just _days_ ago I had to find out that I’m the last of some werewolf bloodline, that that _Malraux_ name my parents made me hide when I was five meant something massive, _apparently_. Just— _god_ , I’m sick of all the _lies_ —”

“What did you just say?”

Both girls twist their heads sharply at the quiet voice. In the doorway stands Klaus, a dark, ominous look in his eye.

 

* * *

 

Klaus ushers the two girls into the living room. Hope positions herself between her girlfriend and her father, not sure who she’s shielding from whom. “Dad—”

“Did you know about this?”

Before Hope can answer, Hayley appears in the doorway beside Klaus. “What’s happening?”

Klaus turns to glare at her, gesturing violently at River. “Did you know that this girl is a Malraux wolf?”

Hayley squares herself. “Yes.” Klaus starts to react, but she cuts him off. “It’s been two days, Klaus. She’s been a wolf for two days, and she’s your daughter’s girlfriend. We just need some time—”

“ _Time_?” Klaus roars, and the girls flinch. “They’ve been locked away for _fifteen years_ , it’s been enough time!”

“What’s going on?” River whispers in Hope’s ear, frightened.

Klaus answers for his daughter, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You are the key rescuing my family from their terrible fate. Or rather, your venom is, once we pry it out of you.”

“Dad!”

“Klaus!”

River looks at Hope with wide, terrified eyes. “What the hell is he talking about?”

Hope runs a hand through her hair. “It’s—it’s—your venom. It’s the…” She sighs, defeated. “It’s the final ingredient in a cure that we need to save the lives of my uncles.”

River closes her eyes, tears falling down her face. “Did you know?”

“River—”

“Is that why you dated me?” River opens her eyes, face twisted in pain. “Did you only speak to me because I you needed my—my _venom_?”

“River, no, I didn’t even know—”

River steps away from Hope, shaking her head. “I can’t do this. I can’t take any more lies, any more secrets.”

Hope reaches out to touch her, but River turns and heads for the door. Klaus makes a move to stop her, but Hayley pins him to the wall. “Let her _go_ ,” she growls as the front door slams shut behind River.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Klaus snarls. “We need her—”

“ _I_ need her!” Hope shouts. She takes a few shuddering breaths, trying not to cry. “What the hell have you done?”

Klaus looks at his daughter’s anguished face and goes very, very still.

 

* * *

 

River’s halfway down the street when she hears her name being called behind her. She doesn’t turn around. Rapid footfalls approach behind her. “River, please—”

“Stop!” River whips around. “Just stop. I can’t do this.”

“Please,” Hope begs, “please listen to me. I _just_ found out that your name is Malraux, and you _just_ turned into a wolf, and I _just_ got my father back after fifteen years, and everything is happening so fast, and I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“He said he wanted to rip my venom from me!”

“I’m not going to let him hurt you!”

“But you want it. My venom. You need it to save your family or—or whatever.”

Hope nods and whispers, “I do.”

“Well you can go to hell,” River spits. “I want nothing to do with this. I just—I just want my life back.” River turns and starts to run, leaving Hope calling for her in the street.

 

* * *

 

Hope bursts through the front door. “ _Dad_ —”

“He’s not here.” Hayley’s waiting in the living room. She hugs her daughter tightly. “I’m so sorry, kiddo.”

“He _threatened_ her, Mom.”

“I know, I know. I should have—I should have told him, or made sure that River stayed away—”

“This isn’t your fault.” Hope steps away, straightens herself. “This is his fault. Where did he go?”

“He took off. He doesn’t handle disappointing people well.”

“Well he sure was a disappointment tonight.” Realization washes over Hope. “If he left…what if he went to find River?”

“He can’t get into her home without an invitation, so she should be fine.”

But Hope knows River, knows how she acts when she’s stressed, when she’s scared. She runs. Hope’s eyes go wide. “I don’t think she went home.”

 

* * *

 

River’s a blur through the city, lost in a maze of side streets and cul-de-sacs as she tries to outrun the reality breathing down her neck. The air in her lungs burns, but she can’t stop, can’t let it catch up to her. Her muscles ache so much that her thoughts are reduced to mere concepts: _Hope. Hybrid. Witch. Venom._

She makes a wide turn onto a road she doesn’t recognize, and within a few seconds she realizes it’s a dead end. She slows a bit, making a circle to head back out, but comes to a skidding stop when someone is standing at the mouth of the street. “What the…”

He’s shrouded in darkness, with no streetlight to reveal his face. “I don’t appreciate the way you spoke to my daughter tonight.”

River scoffs. “Yeah, well, I don’t appreciate the way your daughter lied to me for nearly a year.”

Klaus takes a few loping paces closer. “I understand that you are important to her. It is not my wish to cause you harm. But I need your venom, and I will have it.”

Taking a few rapid steps back, River says, “Don’t come anywhere near me.”

Klaus suddenly appears inches away from her. “You cannot outrun me, wolf.”

River’s heart is pounding in fear, choking her as he inches forward—and then there’s the flash of headlights, and Hope is leaping out of her car, the engine still running. “Dad, stop!”

Klaus appears behind River, facing his daughter. “Hope, go home.”

“No!” Hope beckons River forward. “Come on, come with me!”

River wrenches a foot off the ground, but Klaus grabs her arm. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you leave.”

And then he’s howling in pain, releasing his grip on River to clutch at his own head. Hope’s eyes are narrowed, fists clenched at her side. As he doubles over, River speeds over to Hope, who throws her arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. Keeping one arm around her girlfriend, Hope turns to glare at her father, who’s just starting to recover from his series of aneurysms. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you? She’s not some—some pawn in your games, Dad. I _love_ her and she matters to me.” River sucks in a deep breath, but honestly Hope can _not_ right now. “If you come near her again, I _will_ put you down. If this is what our family is, I want no part of it.” Then she walks River to the passenger seat and gently ushers her into the car. Closing the door, she walks back over to the driver’s side. Before she gets in, she spits, “You are _not_ the father I was hoping for.” Then she gets in the car, slamming the door behind her, and drives away, leaving her father aching and speechless on the dark dead end road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sixth chapter, "All That is Honest and All That is Brave," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	6. Episode Six: All That is Honest and All That is Brave

The breakfast table is heavy with stony silence, the weight of words unsaid so unwieldly under the wood it’s a wonder the plates don’t slide right off. There’s a pile of waffles right in the middle—“Eggos, because no one is too good for frozen waffles,” Hayley had said—towering between them all, providing an easy excuse not to make eye contact. Hope chews angrily, eager to be out of her father’s presence as soon as possible.

Klaus, to his credit, has the self-awareness to be sheepish. Less than a day out of his fifteen-year prison and he’s already managed to alienate his daughter. He opens his mouth a number of times to say something, but words keep failing him. At one point he looks to Hayley desperately for help, but she just gives him a shrug. _You fucked this up, not me_ , her unsympathetic look tells him.

Finally, when the leaning tower of Eggos has diminished considerably, he clears his throat and asks, “So, er…how long have you and River…been…together?”

Hope glares. “Does it matter? Pretty sure she wants nothing to do with me anymore. Besides, I don’t think knowing how long we’ve been dating is going to help you…what was it? _Pry_ her venom out of her?”

“Look, Hope, please understand—”

“Oh I understand.” She slams her fork down. “I understand that you do not get to just come in here and—and completely change our lives! Okay? I know you’ve been waiting just as long as I have to be a part of this family, and yeah that sucks, but like it or not we have built a life. Without you. You can’t just—just shove yourself into it. And you certainly can’t rip it to pieces.”

Klaus looks down, ashamed. “I apologize for my behavior.”

“Yeah well apologies aren’t going to cut it.” Before Klaus can answer, the doorbell rings. “I got it,” Hope spits, pushing away from the table and stalking off. Klaus looks to Hayley again, who just gives another unhelpful shrug.

Hope stops right behind the door and takes a deep breath to calm herself down. Then she opens it and sees the last person she expected to be standing on her front porch. “River?”

River’s smile is hesitant. “Hey.”

Hope steps onto the porch, closing the door behind her. “What are you doing here? I thought…”

“That I’d never want to speak to you again?” Hope nods. “So did I.” River wrings her hands nervously. “I didn’t sleep last night. I was up, just thinking. I thought about something your mom told me.”

“What’s that?”

“That wolves belong to packs, and your pack is your family, the people who make you feel safe.” River grabs Hope’s hands. “The people you love.” Hope’s eyes start to water. “I love you, Hope Mikaelson, and if you love me enough to kick the shit out of the father you’ve waited your whole life to meet just to protect me…then I guess I love you enough to give you some of my venom.”

Hope lets out a little gasp of disbelief and then throws her arms around River’s neck. “Thank you,” she breathes. “This means everything.” Hope kisses her girlfriend.

Still holding onto Hope, River says, “I know. If I had the chance to bring back my family, I’d do anything. I’m certainly not going to stand in your way.”

Hope wipes at her eyes with a little laugh. “I guess we should go tell—”

She’s interrupted by the front door opening. Klaus looks at them both, a humbled expression on his face. He nods at River. “Thank you.”

River juts her chin out. “I’m doing this for Hope. And Hayley.”

“I know. I am…grateful nonetheless.” He pauses. “I would also like to…offer my apologies for my actions last night.”

River nods, and Hope squeezes her hand. “Come on. Let’s save my family.”

 

* * *

 

As they slide the last coffin into the familiar moving truck now parked in front of the rental home, Hayley says to Klaus, “Do you think returning to New Orleans so soon is going to piss off Marcel?”

“I think returning to New Orleans at any point will piss off Marcel.” Klaus grins wickedly. “I imagine it will be fun.”

Hayley is not amused. “You can _not_ pick a fight with him, Klaus. Not only will you lose, but you will put your entire family in jeopardy.”

Klaus puts on an innocent face and raises his hands in surrender. “I will behave, I promise! Get in, save this lot—” He gestures to the row of coffins in the truck. “—and get out. I’ll save waging a war for another day.”

“I don’t want to spend a lot of time there. I don’t like leaving Hope for too long.”

“You won’t be leaving me.” The parents turn to see their daughter striding up to them. “I’m coming.”

“Absolutely not,” Hayley says. “It’s way too dangerous.”

“You might need me!” Hope insists. “You have no idea what kind of magic might come in handy.”

“Freya is the first one of them I’m going to cure, and then we’ll have her to do any magic we need. You’re going to stay here with River and not cause any trouble.”

Hope stands her ground. “And what if Freya’s too busy curing everyone else to fight someone off?”

“Hope—”

“Mom,” she pleads. “They’re my _family_.”

Hayley glances over at Klaus, who, already on Hope’s bad side, is looking to earn some good will. “She could be helpful,” he says, heart leaping at the hopeful look on his daughter’s face.

Hayley looks back and forth between them before throwing up her hands. “Fine.” She reaches up and tugs down the rolling door of the truck, sealing the coffins away. “But you are to stay with one of us _at all times_ , do you hear me?”

Hope nods eagerly. “Loud and clear.” She jerks a thumb back toward the house. “River should be done getting comfy, so I’m going to go.” She hugs her mom, and then stops in front of her dad. “Um. Thanks.” She darts back to the house.

Klaus’s face blooms with pride, while Hayley merely scowls. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

 

* * *

 

“Why do you have to go back to New Orleans?” River is settled comfortably on Hope’s bed, the venom mask lying ominous beside her.

Hope’s hooking up tubes to vials. “The spell that’s keeping all of my aunts and uncles alive is bound to my father’s life force,” Hope explains. “But at the time, Aunt Freya didn’t know what sort of physical state he was going to be in while they were in the spell, so as an added source of power, she bound the spell to New Orleans soil. New Orleans is full of magic, just…thrumming with energy, and it was a good precaution to take, because my dad was significantly weakened by the mystical dagger he had in his chest for the last fifteen years. So, in order to break the spell, we have to do it on New Orleans soil.”

River listens, slack-jawed. “That is the weirdest, coolest shit I have ever heard in my life.”

Laughing, Hope slides onto the bed so she’s facing her girlfriend. “Yeah, it’s a lot to process. I know only a fraction of…magic, and the supernatural world, and my family’s place in it.” She reaches out to squeeze River’s hand. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

River squeezes back. “How are you feeling?”

Hope shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m pissed off at my dad for what he tried to do to you. I’m pissed off at myself for thinking he was going to be…I don’t know, some white knight who would come in and save the day and be the father I always dreamed of. And I’m scared.” She wrinkles her nose. “Is that stupid? Being scared of my own family?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve only ever known my parents, but if all of a sudden my long-lost relatives came back to life, I think I’d be pretty freaked out.”

Hope toys with the mask sitting on the comforter. “I wish you could come with me.”

“Do you want me to?”

Hope looks up in surprise. “What?”

“I wouldn’t mind coming with you.”

 _Holy shit I love you_ , Hope doesn’t say. Instead, “You…you’ve done way too much for this family already. And it’s probably going to be pretty dangerous, especially for a wolf. My mom always told me that New Orleans wasn’t the friendliest city to wolves. No, I think _this_ —” She jiggles the mask. “—is more than enough.” She snorts. “Besides, someone needs to keep covering for me at work. Though, now that I think about it, I should probably just quit. Chances are I’ll have to take a lot of time off in the future, anyway.”

“You can just quit?” River asks. “Don’t you need the money?”

Hope flushes and looks away, embarrassed. “Um. No. I, um.” She rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, searching for the best way to say it. “My family’s actually…we have…money,” she finishes lamely. River still looks confused, so she elaborates. “My dad, my aunts and uncles…they’re over a thousand years old. They’ve had a long time to just…amass wealth. We’re…kind of…stupid rich.”

River laughs in shock. “But…this house…” She looks around. “No offense, but it’s pretty small for a family of whatever-aires who have been around forever.”

“My mom and I have always kept a low profile, since we’re on the move a lot. People notice when a single mom can buy three-story homes in cash.”

“True.”

Hope sighs and picks up the mask. “So…are you ready?”

River nods nervously. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Hope kneels over her girlfriend and, as gently as possible, straps the clunky mask to River’s face. River’s eyes are wide with fear, and as soon as the mask is clicked into place, they squeeze shut. River’s yowl of pain echoes in the mask and Hope grips her hand tightly. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, curling tight into her side for comfort. “I am so, so sorry.”

 

* * *

 

The atmosphere in the cab of the moving truck is no better than that of breakfast. Hope is squeezed between her parents, with Hayley at the wheel. Klaus has wedged himself up against the door, not wanting to crowd his prickly daughter. As they cross over into Alabama, he coughs awkwardly and says, “So…River seems nice.”

Hope’s glare is icy. “Can we not?”

Klaus lowers his voice in apology. “Let me try to make amends, to…fix what I have broken.”

With a huff, Hope says, “Yeah, she’s great. That’s why she’s my girlfriend.”

“How did you meet?”

Hope maintains her silence, staring stonily out the windshield. So Hayley offers, “They met at work.” Hope turns her head slowly to give her mother a wide-eyed stare that reads, _Traitor_. Hayley merely shrugs.

Klaus is confused. “Work? Why on earth would you work?”

“I’ve had a job since I was fifteen,” Hope says defensively.

Slack-jawed, Klaus says to Hayley, “Please do not tell me that you have managed to blow through our family’s fortunes in the decade and a half you’ve had control of them.”

Rolling her eyes, Hayley replies, “Hope’s jobs weren’t about money.”

“Then what the hell is the daughter of Klaus Mikaelson doing working in a…?” He looks at Hope to fill in the blank.

“I work in a pizza place,” Hope provides begrudgingly.

“Oh bloody hell.” Klaus tosses a hand out in disbelief. “My daughter. In a _pizza place_.”

Squaring her jaw, Hope adds, “I’ve also worked in an IHOP and a thrift store.”

If Klaus could have a heart attack, his heart would probably already have given out. “Hayley—”

“Jobs teach responsibility, Klaus. I wanted Hope to be something more than—than the heir to a thousand-year-old empire. I wanted her to learn that she has to work for things.”

“She doesn’t have to work for anything—she’s a Mikaelson!”

“Jesus Christ,” Hayley breathes. “You know what?” She slams the button that turns on the radio, and the local country station is blaring Garth Brooks. “I think maybe we should talk less.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Hope pulls her phone out of her pocket, slipping her earbuds into her ears. And just like that, Klaus is left to himself.

 

* * *

 

Annelise finds her in her family’s crypt, knees on the cement floor as she meditates. “Theo.”

Theo’s eyes remain closed, but her tone conveys her annoyance. “What is it?”

“There’s talk, in the Quarter.”

“Of?”

“They’re back.”

Theo stands slowly, straightening her midnight blue dress. “That’s impossible. Even Klaus Mikaelson doesn’t have the stupidity—or the arrogance.”

“Charlene saw them with her own eyes. Klaus, the Wolf Queen, and their child.”

Theo turns on a dime to finally face Annelise. “They brought Hope?”

Annelise nods. “Char didn’t stay long, didn’t want to be spotted, but she said that she saw them outside their old compound and they…” She trails off.

“They?”

“They were bringing in coffins.”

A small smile of realization dawns on Theo’s face. “Of course. Klaus and the wolf are far too protective of their little witch to bring her here—unless they were reuniting the rest of their unnatural family.” To Annelise she says, “Gather the others. _Our_ people, from all nine covens. Everyone who can get here.” She strides toward the exit of the tomb, Annelise following close behind. “We’ve got to stop that spell.”

 

* * *

 

With a loud thump, the final coffin—Kol’s—settles to the dusty, bloody floor of the Abattoir. “They’re all here,” Klaus announces to no one in particular, clapping his hands once. He looks about his home. “What a ruin.”

Hope and Hayley are laying all of their supplies on what remains of a table. Hope steps away and says, “Here.” She holds her hands out in front her as though warding off an enemy, and then screws her eyes shut in concentration. After a few seconds, the detritus and filth covering the compound begin to float upward, slowly amassing into a ball in the air. Hope gently guides it all into a corner, where it collapses to the ground with a small _poof_. “That should at least make this place easier to work in.”

Klaus smiles, impressed. “Quite the talented witch, you are.”

Hope shrugs, not smiling back. “I’ve taught myself what I can.” She returns to the supplies. Her fingers toy with the parchment bearing the spell to remove the hex from her aunt Rebekah. “I wish I could read this.” But she can’t; the spell is diagrammed confusingly, covered in runes she couldn’t possibly hope to understand.

“Don’t worry,” her mother says, aligning all the bottles of venom around a large stone bowl. “Freya will take care of everything.”

“I want to help,” Hope insists. “Freya’s going to be waking up from a fifteen-year-long coma. There must be something I can do.”

Klaus gestures around the compound. “Perhaps you could put a spell on this place. Prevent us from being…interrupted.”

“Like a boundary spell?”

“Precisely.”

“Yeah, I should be able to…yeah, okay.” Hope finds a spot toward the center of the courtyard and sits, her back pressed against the dead fountain. She presses her palms against the floor as her eyes slide shut. After a few seconds, she begins to chant under her breath. “ _Apné sà mene grandis. Apné sà mene grandis._ _Apné sà mene grandis._ ”

Klaus and Hayley exchange a look as their daughter casts an invisible net over the compound. “Is everything ready?” Klaus asks.

Nodding, Hayley opens the casket holding Freya. She lifts a long hypodermic needle to her teeth and rips off the cap. Spitting it elsewhere, she raises the syringe above Freya’s body, takes a deep breath, and jams it down into her chest.

 

* * *

 

Nigh on fifty witches gather in the shadows around the Abattoir, the sun slung low in the sky. They hover in groups around every entrance, silent as death. In the very front, at the gates, stands Theo, leading the witches. She motions to the others, and on a signal, they charge the entrance.

And bounce right off an invisible wall. With a hissed curse, Theo recognizes the boundary spell. She lifts a hand to keep the others silent, and then presses her other against the boundary. It feels thick and strong, but not infallible.

She glances at her fellow witches, and one by one they join her, forming a ring of hands around the compound. Together, they bow their heads, and without a word, channel their magic into dissolving Hope’s boundary spell.

 

* * *

 

Freya rockets upward with a deep gasp, clutching a hand to her chest. Hayley grabs her shoulders and says loudly, “Freya! Freya! It’s okay.”

After a few long breaths, Freya looks up at Hayley, Klaus hovering just over her shoulder. “It’s about damn time.” She swings herself out of her coffin easily, spying the table full of spells. “What have we got?”

Hayley points. “All the venoms are over there, with the other ingredients for the cure. And here is the spell to cure Rebekah.”

“Okay. Let me work.” Freya’s hands make nimble work of the seven vials, pouring them into the stone basin as she chants her spell. Her eyes flicker momentarily to the girl on the floor, but she doesn’t pause to ask questions. Once the basin is filled with the entirety of the spell, she holds her hands above the liquid and chants, “ _La candidat au somme la toxique cantus. La candidat au somme la toxique cantus._ ” The liquid bubbles as the spell starts to work.

Klaus and Hayley watch with bated breath, but their attention is diverted when Hope’s own incantation falters. Hayley speeds to her side, kneeling down. “Hope?”

Hope’s eyes fly open. “They’re trying to get in.”

Confused, Hayley looks up at Klaus, who stalks over to the entryway to the courtyard. His eyes widen as he takes in the small army just outside the gate. Returning to the others, he says, “It seems the witches of New Orleans are aware of our plans.”

To her daughter, Hayley asks, “Can you keep them out?”

Hope’s breath is coming ragged with the strain of the spell, but she nods. “ _Apné sà mene grandis,_ ” she chants. “ _Apné sà mene grandis._ ”

Hayley’s heart quickens with worry, but she doesn’t know how to help. Before she can figure it out, Freya calls, “I need you two, now!”

The parents appear at her side. She gathers some of the abandoned vials. “The cure is complete.” Scooping the cure into the vials, she says, “Each of you take some and go to our injured brothers. Apply this to their wounds. Hopefully they will be cured before they wake. I must begin to siphon the hex from Rebekah.”

Klaus and Hayley do as she says, each grabbing a vial or two and rushing to their respective coffins. Hayley lifts Elijah’s lid with a sort of reverence, gently pushing the fabric of his torn shirt away from his wound frozen in time. From a short ways away, she can hear Freya beginning to cure Rebekah, but she can’t take her eyes off of Elijah’s peaceful face as she pours the anti-venom onto his arm.

 

* * *

 

Marcel’s been in somewhat of a mood since Hope Mikaelson drove off into the sunset with her father in her backseat. Tonight he sits at the bar of Rousseau’s, a half-empty bottle of bourbon inches from his hand. The bar murmurs with quiet conversation, the ideal backing soundtrack to a low-key evening.

He’s just about to pour himself yet another thick-bottomed glass when he senses a presence behind him. “Kinda hoping for a quiet night. Alone.”

“Yeah, well, think you’re going to want to hear this.”

With a sigh, Marcel turns his head to assess Josh. “This better be good.”

Josh nods sarcastically. “Yeah, it’s great, as long as you consider the entire Mikaelson family just chillin’ in their old home a good thing.”

Marcel’s glass hits the bar so hard a tiny fissure appears.

 

* * *

 

“ _Apné sà mene grandis. Apné sà mene grandis._ _Apné sà mene grandis._ ” Hope’s eyes are screwed shut so tightly they hurt, but she throws all of her energy into keeping the boundary spell around the home. She can feel the magic of dozens of witches hammering against it, and the force of their attack is starting to take its toll. She knows how strong she is, knows that the magic within her can easily defeat them, but she is unpracticed, unused to expending so much of her power at once. A headache is sprouting between her eyes, threatening to crack her skull in two, and she starts to stutter in her spell. “ _Apné...sà mene grandis....Apné sà mene...grandis._ ”

Suddenly, a hand is resting on her shoulder, and Hope starts. She looks up in surprise to see a tall man in a dark suit. The sight of him, awake and upright, is like a sucker punch to her gut. With a small smile, he offers his hand to her, and without question she takes it. Channeling his power, she redoubles her efforts to maintain the boundary spell. “ _Apné sà mene grandis. Apné sà mene grandis. Apné sà mene grandis._ ” It doesn’t take long before Hope stops, shoulders sagging and breath finally coming easy. “It’s done,” she says quietly. “They’re gone. We’re safe.”

The hand she’s still holding gently tugs her to her feet. “I’m impressed with your ability to keep so many of New Orleans’s witches at bay.”

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without your help, Uncle Elijah.” Hope’s smile is mischievous. She looks past him to the fuller group now standing in the courtyard. Her smile fades a bit as the reality of the situation washes over her.

Sensing her daughter’s distress, Hayley walks over, puts an arm around her, and says, “Hope, this is your family. Everyone…this is Hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The seventh episode, "The Fine Idea You Crave," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	7. Episode Seven: The Fine Idea You Crave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode contains a musical cue. When you come upon a hyperlinked phrase, please click the link to be taken to a YouTube video that will play a song chosen to accompany that scene.

The Mikaelson siblings stand in a rough half-circle, all facing Hope. All of their eyes start to feel heavy on Hope’s skin, so she gives a little wave. “Um. Hi.”

Silence reigns, until Rebekah blurts out, “Your hair!”

Hope’s hand flies to her head self-consciously. “What’s wrong with—”

“No, it’s lovely! It’s just…so red!”

“Oh.” Hope flushes a bit. “Um. Yeah.”

Rebekah walks up to her niece and tucks her hair behind one ear lovingly. “And here I thought that blonde baby I’d cared for would take after her Auntie Bex. Well, there’s no denying you’re Nik’s child, is there?”

Klaus laughs. “I did try to tell you.”

Hope’s answering smile is a sly, crooked thing, and Rebekah coos, “But she smiles just like her mother. Don’t you agree, ‘Lijah?”

Elijah answers with a vague hum of agreement, but his eyes aren’t on his niece. Instead they’re watching Hayley, who’s still standing just beside Hope. Hayley manages to rip her own eyes away from him to address the room. “Why don’t you all introduce yourselves? Hope only has my stories to go off of and, well, sometimes it was hard to figure out what to say.”

Freya approaches Hope with a warm smile. “It’s nice to have another witch in the family again. To tell the truth, it gets tiring, always being the one to save the day. I’m your aunt Freya.” She hugs Hope, who hugs back tightly.

“I think I have a lot to learn from you,” Hope says once the hug is over. “I’ve been looking forward to having a teacher, well, forever.”

“It didn’t seem like you needed much help when you took down all those witches by yourself. You’re powerful.” Hope’s face colors again. “Well, you won’t just have me.” She gestures back to one of her brothers. “Kol may be a vampire once again, but there are few people as knowledgeable of worldly magics as your uncle.”

Kol doesn’t react to the compliment. Instead he asks bluntly, “Are we expected to remain in this bloody house forever, or can we leave now?”

His sisters shoot him disapproving glares, but Hope answers, “Well, the boundary spell is keeping everyone else out, but if one of us crosses outside, it’ll break.”

“Brilliant,” Kol says sarcastically. “Just what I wanted after spending fifteen years trapped in a house with my siblings: to spend more time trapped in a house with my siblings.”

“Kol!” Rebekah snaps reprovingly, but Kol storms off, disappearing into one of the compound’s many hallways.

Freya sighs. “Our brother’s horrible manners notwithstanding, he has a point. I’d like to put as much distance between us and Marcel Gerard as possible.”

Hayley looks at her daughter, who’s starting to go pale with exhaustion. “We can leave tomorrow. We’re safe in here, and it’s late. We could all use some rest.”

Freya opens her mouth as if to argue, but a warning glance from Elijah keeps her quiet. He says, “Let us see if we can’t make our family home a touch more livable, shall we? No doubt Marcel’s… _riff-raff_ have wrought some damage that might need addressing if we are to stay here for the night.”

 

* * *

 

Hayley picks her way carefully through her old bedroom. The bed itself is more or less intact, still standing despite slashed sheets and scraped wood. The drawers of her dresser have been tossed about, one of them completely reduced to slivers, and the clothes she hadn’t managed to pack in their escape fifteen years ago are now little more than rags. She stares at the full-length mirror, remembering standing in this very spot once upon a time in a long, white dress, and considers her reflection now, distorted and refracted in all of the cracks.

Now her hand is on a doorknob, and she hesitates. She doesn’t want to know what they’ve done to that room, to the tiny nursery that her baby girl slept in. In her mind, it is unbroken, Hope sitting up in her crib, gnawing on a knight made of wood, gazing up in wonder at the skyline of this city that her father created just for her. She doesn’t dare to dream that maybe Klaus’s sirelings left _this_ room alone, that maybe they spared this relic of innocence. Still, her hand is on the knob, not moving.

“Fifteen years, and you still look…”

Hayley turns to see Elijah leaning against the doorframe, a sly smile on face. She returns the look with a little eye roll. “You’re one to talk.”

Elijah chuckles, and then murmurs, “Fifteen years, and I never imagined how she’d look.”

“She grew up fast. Too fast. Sometimes I forget that that tiny baby I fought and killed to protect is now…” She trails off.

Stepping into the room, Elijah finishes, “A strong, powerful, beautiful woman.” He stops in front of Hayley. “Just like her mother.”

Hayley’s eyes roam his face, remembering, and then slide shut. “Elijah…I…”

Before she can finish her thought, there is a loud, metallic banging at the front gate, and ensuing commotion from the lower floors. Hayley and Elijah exchange a worried glance, and both make their way to the center of the compound.

 

* * *

 

The clanging catches Hope’s attention from the kitchen. She weaves her way back into the courtyard, where Kol and Rebekah are already approaching the source of the noise.

Kol is the first to spy the visitor. “Oh goodie, I didn’t realize that blood banks _deliver_ now. What else have we missed?”

Hope ignores Rebekah as she chastises her brother, and instead heads down the small corridor toward the gate. Before her aunt can stop her, she finally gets close enough to see who it is. Her jaw drops. “ _River_?”

Her girlfriend keeps glancing about herself furtively. “Hey, can you let me in? It’s, like, creepy as hell out here.”

From behind, Rebekah calls, “Hope, what is—”

“Hold on.” Hope presses her hands against the invisible barrier surrounding the home and bows her head. After a few seconds, she whips her head back up and yanks the gate open. “C’mon, quick!” She grabs River by the hand and tugs her inside, slamming the gate shut behind them. “River—”

“Was that _magic_?” River asks, excited.

“Yes, but I could only keep the boundary spell down for a second—what the _hell_ are you doing here?” She holds River at arm’s length, checking her up and down. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

River brushes off Hope’s concern. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“River, what are you _doing_ here? I _told_ you this city isn’t safe for wolves—”

“Girls!” Their attention is diverted to Rebekah, who’s standing just inside the courtyard. “Why don’t we come talk inside?”

Hope gently pulls River by the hand into the courtyard, where by now the entire family has gathered. All of them look surprised by the sudden appearance of a guest, and Kol is practically vibrating with anger.

Hayley’s the first to speak. “River, what’re you—”

“I had to come,” River interrupts. “I just…it didn’t feel right, me sitting at home while Hope was here doing…well, this.”

“Well I for one have several questions,” Kol begins sardonically. “The first is who the hell are you, and the second is why does she get to come in while the rest of us are forced to play prisoner in our own home?”

“Oh. Um.” Hope gestures awkwardly between the group and River. “Everyone, this is River. My girlfriend.” There’s no reaction. “River, this is my family.”

The silence is so thick it nearly suffocates Hope. After a while, River leans over to her and mutters, “Wow. Your family is _white_. I’ve seen _Get Out_ , I know where this story goes.”

A ripple of laughter breaks out, and suddenly the tension is eased. From the balcony above, Elijah calls down, “Actually, our family _does_ have a rather unfortunate history of putting our…spirits into others people’s bodies, including those of people of color.”

“…Yeah, I gotta go,” River says, and Hope laughs.

“Nonsense.” Rebekah walks up to River and hooks their arms together. “Any friend of Hope’s is a friend of ours. I think what we need is a family dinner.”

“With what _food_?” Kol demands. “No one’s lived in this dump for a decade and a half.”

“Um, guys?” Hope jiggles her phone. “There’s an app for that.”

 

* * *

 

As they wait for someone to come bring them food, Hope leads River to the small bedroom she’s claimed as her own for the night. The mattress is lying sideways on the box spring and the chest of drawers has been tipped over, but other than some shredded paper and ash on the floor, it’s mostly been left alone. Still, River moves carefully, asking, “What happened here? Why is everything…”

“Trashed?” Hope sits on the askew bed, motioning for River to join her. “There was an angry mob. I’m told it wasn’t the first in my family’s history.” She grabs River’s hand. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“You keep asking like that and I’m going to start to think that you’re not happy to see me.”

“This isn’t funny, River. Not half an hour ago we were attacked by a ton of witches. If you had been out there—”

“But I _wasn’t_.” River smiles. “Don’t you remember what I told you, back home?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re my _pack_. And you needed me.”

Hope shakes her head. “But I didn’t mean for you to follow me here! How did you even get here?”

“I hopped a Greyhound as soon as y’all left.”

Hope makes a frustrated noise and kisses River. “That was stupid and dangerous and I love you.”

“I love you too.” River waggles her shoulders excitedly. “So?”

Hope’s confused. “So…?”

“Your family! What’re they like?”

“Oh. I don’t really know. We haven’t had a whole lot of time to get to know each other. But…they seem great. Well, Kol kind of seems like he hates me, but the others are cool.” She sighs. “It’s so weird. Like, I’ve been waiting for this my _entire_ life, and all of a sudden, there they were, just standing in front of me. I had no idea what to say.”

“Just give it time,” River says wisely. “I’m sure they’ve been waiting to get to know you, too.”

“We’ve been waiting a rather long time.” The girls turn to see Rebekah standing in the door, a twinkle in her eye. “Come. Dinner’s been left at the gate. The best jambalaya in the city. Let’s eat.”

 

* * *

 

The dining room is so packed with detritus that they could never hope to piece together a table, so instead they gather on the grand staircase, lounging on the steps and against pillars. They’ve divvied the jambalaya into whatever containers weren’t smashed: mugs, saucepans, vases. Rebekah keeps trying to steal some of Elijah’s with the ladle she’s using as a utensil, but he deftly moves his chipped mixing bowl out of reach. There’s a pile of empty blood bags by the entryway, the recently-woken vampires having gorged themselves on the supply Hayley brought all the way from Florida. Kol has mixed some in with the broth, so the sausage gleams red as he picks at it. On the floor, River shows off her skills with chopsticks, with Hope looking on, impressed.

Klaus stabs a piece of shrimp with the fork he had to bend back into its proper shape. “So, River.” The room goes quiet. “You’re dating my daughter.”

Hope makes a face. “Well-spotted, Dad.”

With an innocent shrug, Klaus says, “I don’t think it’s out of line to say I didn’t expect to be reunited with my daughter after fifteen years and find her in a relationship with…” He trails off.

“With who?” River asks, eyebrows raised. “A girl? A werewolf? A _black person_?”

“Now hold on—” Klaus starts to protest, but River cuts him off. “No, I’m sorry, I just spent a day on a bus crossing three states just to come be with my girlfriend on the most important day of her life, but I’m getting the third degree?” Rebekah’s face is alight with glee, watching the tense exchange as if it were a sporting match.

Hope jumps in. “Yeah, Dad, what the hell? River was one of the wolves who so _graciously_ gave their venom to help cure your brothers. Maybe not pulling some patriarchal father-figure bull isn’t too much to ask for, especially not after the way you treated her last night.”

Klaus’s face is unreadable. To Hayley he says, “This is your doing.”

Hayley shrugs. “I raised her to think and stand up for herself. Clearly River’s mother did the same.” She smiles sideways at the girls. “I knew I liked her.”

“Yes Nik, honestly.” Rebekah abandons her mission to steal Elijah’s food and walks over to the girls. “Your blustering has grown dull. Instead, I’d rather we all get to know the youngest Mikaelson, _and_ her lovely girlfriend.” She sits on the floor and asks, “What do you two like to do?”

“River’s a runner,” Hope says, gesturing at the girl in question with her soup spoon. “Best on the team back in high school.”

“And Hope’s art is stunning,” River supplies. “You should see what she can do with charcoal.”

“How did you meet?” Freya calls down from the balcony above, her legs dangling through the bent bars of the railing.

“We work together. River started training me on my first day. I thought she was the cutest person I had ever met.”

Rebekah coos. “Aren’t you two just delightful?”

“Can we put an end to the young love?” Kol moans. “I’m trying to eat.”

Without looking up from his bowl, Elijah says, “Kol, if you can’t behave yourself, I’m sure our sister would be more than happy to put you back into the Chambre de Chasse.”

Kol slams his mug down onto the stair. “I rather wish she would, so that I might finally have some _peace and quiet_.”

“Why are you being so particularly nasty?” Rebekah asks.

“I spent fifteen years trapped with you lot, always at my ear, and now here I sit, eating jambalaya out of a _mug_ and listening to you all simper over teen romance. I want to peel my skin off.”

“Hey!” Hayley’s lip curls as she glares at Kol. “Don’t talk like this in front of your niece. She’s your family.”

“True, which is more than can be said for—”

“Enough!” Elijah booms. “Kol, take a walk.”

“Take a walk?” He jerks his head toward River. “Should I take our niece’s bi—”

There’s a loud crack that echoes horribly through the space, all the way up into the rafters, and Kol slumps over, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Just behind him, Klaus claps his hands once. “Well, that’s just about enough of that.” He picks up Kol’s abandoned jambalaya. “Ah, more for me.”

 

* * *

 

In some borrowed pajamas, River climbs into the bed, now properly aligned with its box spring. “How’re you feeling?”

Hope doesn’t answer for a while, just brushing the same section of her hair over and over. Finally she says, “They’re…different.”

“Well, Kol’s a dick, I can tell you that much.” She offers Hope a sympathetic smile. “But the rest of them seem great. I kind of want Rebekah to be my best friend.”

Hope puts her brush down and slides under the covers. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t think about the whole thousand-year family dynamic thing. Obviously it’s going to be hard for me to just…fit in. I’m basically a newborn in the scale of the lives they’ve led.”

“Yeah, but you’re their _family_ , not some random seventeen-year-old. They love you.”

“I think Freya loves _you_. She could barely keep her eyes off you all night.”

River flicks her hair over her shoulder dramatically. “What can I say? I make all the witches crazy.”

Hope’s laugh is bright and loud. “You’re such a dork.” She kisses her girlfriend. “C’mon. It’s been a long day.”

“Hey, all you had to do was fight off a couple of dozen witches trying to kill your family. I had to ride a bus for _eight hours_. Please don’t minimize my struggle.”

Leaning over to blow out the candle lighting the room, Hope rolls her eyes and says, “I’m leaving you.”

 

* * *

 

Rebekah tracks Kol to the library, now little more than a trash heap. He’s gripping the rail on the balcony, eyes shooting daggers at the street below. She stands inside, glaring at his back. “You’re being a right and proper arse, you know that?”

“Bugger off, Rebekah.”

“No.”

Kol whips around. “I said, leave me alone.”

“Why are you so bent on making everyone in this family resent you?” Rebekah snaps. “We are all trying to repair what has been broken for fifteen years, but it seems you can’t be bothered.”

“Well perhaps I can’t. Perhaps I’m less interested in family bonding exercises and more interested in getting the bloody hell out of this sewer of a city.”

“Our niece has waited her entire life to know us, but all she knows of you is your anger, your spite. Why are so cruel to her, and her girlfriend?” Kol glowers instead of answering. “You’re lucky Nik doesn’t bite you to teach you some manners, though I’m starting to think maybe he should.”

Kol’s hands curl into fists at his side. He stalks forward, getting into his sister’s face. “I don’t _want_ to know her.”

“ _Why_?” Rebekah asks. “She’s our _family_ —”

“She reminds me of her!” Kol roars. “Is that what you want to hear, Rebekah? That when I look at her I can only think of the girl that was taken from me, by _this_ family? Hope is…is smart and witty and powerful and artistic and when I look at her…the hole inside of me, the one still empty, after all these years…the ache is too much to bear, Rebekah.”

Rebekah’s face falls. “Kol…”

She reaches up to touch his face, but Kol smacks her hand away and spins around, marching back toward the balcony. “Do not pity me, sister.”

“But I _do_!” Rebekah insists, following her brother. “I know this hurt well, Kol. And I know that if you had not spent the past fifteen years resenting us for being trapped in the Chambre de Chasse with you, perhaps we could have helped you better.”

Kol leans heavily against the rail, his head bowed. He doesn’t say anything for long time, both of them just standing in the thick summer air, listening to the symphony of cicadas. Finally, Kol whispers, “I loved her.”

Rebekah loops her arm through one of Kol’s and tips her head onto his shoulder. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

[Elijah finds her](http://bit.ly/pr1x07) on the balcony of her old bedroom, staring down at the street below. It’s late, so there are only a few stragglers left milling about, half-empty bottles in hand. He stops beside her, sliding his hands into his pockets. “How thoughtful of Hope to include these balconies in her boundary spell.”

Hayley smiles warmly and hums in agreement. “Hope loves balconies. Every time we moved I’d try to find us a place with one if I could. She’s spent hours on them, reading, doing homework, practicing magic…” She trails off.

“Quite the young woman you’ve raised,” Elijah comments.

“She’s perfect. This life…it wasn’t what I wanted for her, but I am so lucky to have been able to be with her, to see her become this strong, smart, capable person I love.”

“Yes, well, among my many regrets is my inability to watch her grow, as you did.”

The smile fades from Hayley’s face. “Elijah…”

“No, please.” He turns to face her. “Don’t misunderstand me. I do not in any way blame you for my time in the Chambre de Chasse. It was my choices that led us to that point, mine and my siblings’. I simply mean to say…” He sighs, picks up her hand from the railing and brings it to his lips. “I wish more than anything that I could have been there, by your side.”

Hayley’s eyes begin to prick, and she looks away for a moment to compose herself. “Elijah, I…” She takes her hand back and turns so that she is now leaning back against the railing. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Elijah tilts his head, his face open and attentive. Hayley takes a deep breath and begins.

“For the past fifteen years, Hope and I have moved around, all over the country. Every six months or so, it was off to somewhere new. Hope never went school, she—she did everything online. And of course she was adaptable, never complained once, because she’s the most amazing kid in the world, but she never…she never really had friends, a—a community.

“It took me two years to find the cure for Freya’s poison, another three and a half for the spell to get rid of Rebekah’s hex. And then it was just a matter of finding all the venoms for the cure for you and Kol.” She pauses, works the palm of one hand with the thumb of the other. “Hope was nine when I found out the Malraux line was extinct. Felt like my world just…fell apart. I spent the next eight years searching, following every lead I could find.

“And then we were in Tallahassee, and Hope had a job and a girlfriend, and we were happy. My final lead didn’t pan out, and I had a choice to make. I could pack us up, move us god knows where else, with no game plan…or we could stay. Build our lives in one place for the first time since Hope was born.”

Hayley’s voice starts to waver. “The night…the night Hope left Florida to come here, to rescue Klaus…I went up into the attic, where we had been keeping all of your coffins, and I opened yours, and I looked at you.” Her face crumples, stray tears tracking down her nose. She speaks with shuddering breaths. “And I told you that I was moving on. I told you that—that I couldn’t keep looking.” She finally looks up at his expressionless face, her eyes shiny with tears. “I gave up on you, Elijah. I gave up on you and I will never, ever—”

She’s silenced by Elijah’s lips on hers. His hands are strong on her face, warm and sure. She leans into him, her own hands coming up to rest on his arms. After a full minute, Elijah ends the kiss, letting one hand fall to her waist as the other rests on the side of her neck. He presses his forehead against hers as they catch their breath. “Listen to me,” he whispers, his voice deep and gravelly. “You will never have to apologize to me for the sacrifices you have made for the sake of this family. My truest regret is that the life you were forced to endure with your daughter was all in the name of rescuing us. Do you think my love for you would wane if you were to choose her over us, over me? All I have ever wanted, from the moment I set eyes on you, is your happiness, wherever you might find it.”

Hayley brings a hand up to cup Elijah’s cheek. “I’m happy with you.” She kisses him, pulling his face down to meet hers. He secures an arm around her waist and lifts her up, and she steadies herself by taking his face in both of her hands. Suddenly, they’re by the bed, and Elijah is laying her down. She sits up, fingers making quick work of the buttons of his shirt. He rips his tie off so that she can push the shirt off his shoulders, and once it’s on the ground, he reaches for the hem of hers and tugs it over her head. In a flash, Elijah’s stretched out on the bed, and Hayley’s jeans are abandoned on the floor. Now just in her underwear, she straddles his body, curves herself over him so that they’re kissing, his hands in her hair, along her back, on her waist, pressing her down, down, down.

 

* * *

 

Klaus is just outside the girls’ door, listening to the sounds of their slow, sleepy breathing, when he hears him. Wordlessly, he blurs down to the front gate, where a figure is waiting outside in the shadows. The laugh that greets him is low and humorless. “You know, I always knew you were arrogant. Didn’t realize you had a death wish.”

Klaus leans casually against the brick of the corridor. “Well, fifteen years with you, anyone would seek an end to that.”

“I thought I made it clear to your daughter that you were never to step foot in this city again,” Marcel snarls.

“We needed to return to break the spell keeping my siblings alive.”

“I don’t care. I ran you out—”

“Yes, yes, the King of New Orleans defeated the monsters lurking in the dark, reclaimed his kingdom as his own.” Klaus rolls his eyes. “Spare me your posturing. There are no mobs to impress here.”

“Oh this isn’t posturing.” Marcel presses close to the gate. “If you don’t leave this city, I will come for each and every one of you.”

Klaus appears suddenly, face inches from Marcel’s, only bars of wrought iron between them. “And my daughter? Will you come for her?”

“Don’t _push_ me, Klaus.”

“We’re leaving in the morning, Your Majesty,” Klaus says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “The witches of this city that you claim to control tried to come for my family today, so my daughter is sleeping off their attack.”

Marcel’s eyes narrow. “You were attacked by witches?”

“They tried to break into our home as my daughter and sister healed our broken family. Hope single-handedly fended them off. And let me tell you—” Klaus’s teeth gleam in the light from a streetlamp. “—if they had succeeded in their efforts, I would have torn this city to shreds.”

Marcel covers his mouth with his hand for a moment, and then points at Klaus. “You have until noon to be out of the city limits. If there’s still a trace of any of you— _any_ of you—I will personally take you down.”

Klaus sketches a mocking bow. “As you command.” And then he disappears, leaving Marcel alone in the streetlight.

 

* * *

 

Hope jerks awake, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Sometime during the night she kicked all of the covers off of her; the Louisiana swamp air is so much more unbearable than that of northern Florida. Judging by the faintest light visible through the windows, dawn is approaching, and the nightmare that ripped Hope from sleep is not her final wake-up call.

She rolls over with a groan, fully prepared to bury her face into her pillow and fall back asleep, but when her arm hits a wide expanse of cool sheets, she remembers. “River?” She picks her head up. The other side of the bed is empty. “River?” Pushing herself up so that she’s propped on one arm, she looks around the room. There’s no sign of her girlfriend anywhere. Louder, she calls, “River?” Still no answer.

She’s just about to swing her legs onto the floor when something catches her eye, something on River’s pillow. She picks up two Polaroid photos. The first makes her blood run cold. She stares down her girlfriend, bound and gagged on a dirty stone floor. The fear in her eyes is visceral, claws at Hope’s stomach like a wild animal. Below the image of her kidnapped girlfriend, a message is written in neat script: _Come alone._

Shaking, Hope turns her gaze to the second photo. It’s of a place—she doesn’t recognize it by sight, but by name, a name she has heard in stories from her mother. She swallows thickly, and then, eyes shiny with unshed tears, looks out at the first rays of the day. She knows where she needs to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The eighth episode, "So Damn Caught in the Middle," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	8. Episode Eight: So Damn Caught in the Middle

Hayley stretches, muscles pulling long, as the midmorning sun heats up the room through the open balcony doors. She’s more or less bare to the world, the remnants of bedsheets little cover after all these years. Blinking sleepily, she curves her body to the side, taking in the sight of her equally naked companion with a pleased half-smile. His breath comes long and slow, but Hayley’s no fool. “Are you awake?”

Barely concealing his mischievous smirk, Elijah shakes his head. Hayley playfully shoves his shoulder. He creaks one eye open. “So cruel, and yet so lovely, even this early.” His smirk is no longer hidden.

“Early? It’s…” She extends her body over Elijah’s, ignoring his groans as she roots around blindly for her jeans. She manages to dig her phone out of her pocket and returns to her side of the bed. Elijah’s hand follows her, resting on the smooth expanse of her hip. She checks the time. “Nearly ten,” she finally finishes. “I didn’t even know you were capable of sleeping this late.”

“Why on earth—” He takes one of her hands, brings her fingers to his lips. “—would I wish to leave this bed? I have thought of being nowhere else in fifteen years.”

Hayley’s eyes roll back as the hand on her hip moves lower. “God,” she breathes. “Fifteen years. Felt like a lifetime—”

Elijah kisses her, a hard, passionate kiss that curls her toes. “I will not allow you to know that kind of pain again,” he promises, voice rasped. Hayley brushes some hair from his eyes, a small, melancholic smile on her face. “I will not leave you, even if that means…” The hand trails lightly up her back, eliciting a breathy laugh. “…we never leave this bed again.”

Hayley snorts and tips her head forward to rest against Elijah’s chest for a moment. Then she pushes away, swinging her legs onto the cold floor. “Would that I could,” she says, swatting away his hand as it chases after her. “But I should probably go check on my daughter and her girlfriend, make sure they’re not still being lazy in bed like _some_ people.” She shoots Elijah an impish look as she grabs his abandoned shirt from the floor and begins to button it.

“A thief now, are we?” In a flash, Elijah is kneeling on the edge of the bed, tugging Hayley closer by her hips.

She twists easily out of his grasp, swooping her jeans up from the floor again. As she climbs into them, she says, “Better find something else to wear, I guess.” She heads for the door. “This is mine now.”

As she turns into the hallway, she hears from behind her, “Maybe I’ll just wear yours.” Her resulting laugh is bright and airy, following her as she makes her way to the girls’ bedroom.

The door is just slightly ajar, so she pushes it open softly. “Hope, River.” When she steps inside, she’s surprised to find the bed empty. “Hope?” No response. “River?” Silence. She closes her eyes and uses her enhanced hearing to listen for any sign of the girls in the compound. Nothing. “Hope!” Her voice is louder now. She’s just about to leave, to see if maybe they’ve gone into the tunnels, when something catches her eye. There’s a photograph in the middle of the bed. She picks it up, and all her breath leaves her body. “Klaus,” she tries to call, but her voice is little more than a whisper. Still staring at the photo, she swallows thickly and shouts, “Klaus! Elijah!”

The latter appears suddenly beside her, Klaus just moments behind. “What is the matter?” Klaus asks, and instead of answering, Hayley lifts up the photograph. The three of them stare in horror at the sight of River, tied up and terrified, and at the words written below: _Come alone_.

“Where is Hope?” Klaus asks, voice deadly quiet.

“She’s not here,” Hayley whispers.

Louder, Klaus’s voice breaks as he demands, “ _Where is she?_ ”

“I think the better question,” Elijah says, gently taking the photo from Hayley, “is where is River?”

 

* * *

 

The sun glints off of the iron gates in front of her. _Lafayette Cemetery_ , she reads, looking down at the Polaroid in her hand, an image of the very place she stands before. Taking a deep breath, and knowing full well this is a terrible decision, Hope enters the cemetery. Her first step over the threshold, she feels a small surge of mystical energy flow through her, as if she were walking through a waterfall. She follows the twisting pathways around mausoleums and monuments, and even though her mind is consumed by worry for her girlfriend, she can’t help but stare in awe at the grandeur of the cemetery.

After a few minutes, she makes a turn and finds herself facing some kind of altar, a long, stone structure raised on a dais in front of yet another mausoleum. And slumped against its base—

“River!” Hope dashes forward, but comes to an abrupt stop when she slams against an invisible wall. She looks down to see a line of salt blocking her path.

“Just a little boundary spell.” Hope’s head whips up to see a woman with light brown skin and piercing green eyes standing just behind River. “Don’t worry, I have no interest in harming your little pet.”

“Then how about you let her go and we can talk?”

The woman makes a face as if pretending to weigh her options. “Tempting offer, but I think I’d rather have her here as leverage over you, Hope Mikaelson.”

Hope’s eyes narrow. “Doesn’t seem very fair that you know who I am but I have no idea who the hell you are.”

“Fair enough. My name is Theo LeRoy. I represent a large faction of New Orleans witches who are seeking to…reaffirm our status in this city.”

“Okay? And what does that have to do with me?”

“Well that’s what this little meeting is about,” Theo says, voice light and inviting. “I want to talk to you about your…connection to this city, and so I took your werewolf and I pumped her full of wolfsbane.” She nudges River with the toe of her boot, and the girl slides onto the hard stone of the dais, barely conscious. Hope stiffens, her breath coming shallow. “So, now that I have your attention, and your girlfriend…” The smile slides off of Theo’s face. “Do exactly as I say and no one has to die.”

 

* * *

 

The family gathers around the grand staircase, passing around the photo of River. “Does anyone recognize the location?” Freya asks as she hands it off to her sister.

“It could be anywhere in the Quarter,” Klaus says, pacing, “or even outside of it. We need to do a locator spell, now.”

Freya nods. “I’ll gather what supplies I can, but I’m going to be limited.”

“How did they get in here?” Hayley’s sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, staring at nothing. “Hope put a boundary spell on this place. How did they get in to take River?”

Freya exchanges a look with Elijah, who’s standing close to Hayley. She explains, “Hope just barely kept the spell up when the witches attacked yesterday, and that was when she was awake and concentrating. If they came back in the night, while her defenses were down…” She trails off. She looks to Klaus, who gives her a nod, and then she disappears into a side room, off to find the means to complete a locator spell.

Elijah asks, “What do we do if we cannot find her with magic?”

“Then we dismantle this city brick by brick until she is returned to us,” Klaus spits.

“And how long before Marcel Gerard shows up at our door to put an end to us all?” Kol is leaning up against a pillar, looking bored.

“He’s right, Nik,” Rebekah says. “If we go on a rampage we’ll have to deal with both Marcel and those same witches who want us gone. We may not find her in time.”

“Then what would you have me do?!” Klaus roars. “Sit here and hope she returns?”

Elijah cautions, “Be _smart_ about this, brother—”

“I’m going to go to Marcel.” Everyone falls silent. Hayley stands up. “I’m going to ask him for his help.”

“Absolutely not,” Elijah says at the same time that Klaus warns, “Out of the question.”

Hayley looks at them both like they’re crazy. “Our little girl is _missing_ , her girlfriend taken hostage in some kind of trap for her. If you think I’m not going to go the most powerful person in the city for help—”

“And what if he’s the one behind this all?”

Rebekah’s eyes shoot daggers at Kol. “Marcel would _never_ hurt a child.”

Hayley starts walking toward the courtyard. “I’m going to Marcel, and Rebekah’s coming with me.”

Klaus steps in front of her to block her path. “I’ll go.”

“We don’t have _time_ for this, Klaus! Rebekah and I are the only ones he won’t kill on sight.” She starts pointing to the siblings. “Elijah ripped his heart out, Kol killed Davina, Freya condemned her to a hell with the ancestors, and you…well, you’re _you_. He won’t kill me and he certainly won’t kill Rebekah.” She takes a deep breath. “You stay with Freya. Do the spell. If that doesn’t work…” She pushes past Klaus. “…tear this city apart.”

 

* * *

 

Theo approaches Hope with long, confident strides. “What do you know of your connection to New Orleans, Hope Mikaelson?”

Hope gives a little shrug. “I was born here. My mother was born here. My father and his siblings helped establish this city, like, a million years ago. And when we ran, this was the one place we could never come back to.”

“Until now.”

“Yeah, until now. So what?”

“So your timing is a little…inconvenient.” Theo stops about a foot away from Hope, the salt line between them. “The witches of New Orleans have been…I guess you could say _scheming_ , for about five years now. We have a plan in place to reestablish our race as the dominant power in New Orleans. And your presence here…well, I’m not interested in having any unpredictable factors running around and messing up years of hard work.”

Hope’s face betrays a mixture of confusion and frustration. “I don’t give a shit about whatever master plan for world domination you guys have been cooking for howeverlong. I don’t give a shit about your politics. We came here to save my family and get out, and what you do after that is entirely up to you. Just leave us out of it.”

“Would that I could,” Theo laments. “But now that I have you, I want to put to bed any threat you might pose, once and for all.”

“What’re you going to do, kill me?”

Theo laughs. “God no. The last thing we need is the wrath of the recently-awakened Mikaelson clan raining down upon us. No, nothing so morbid.”

“Then _what_?”

“Simple.” Theo smiles sinisterly. “I want you to renounce your connection to the ancestors of New Orleans.”

 

* * *

 

Marcel’s just sliding on his jacket when the doors to his penthouse burst open. He turns to see who the intruder is, but there’s no one there. He sighs. “I don’t have time for this.”

“You’re going to have to make time.”

Rolling his eyes, he twists his head to see Rebekah leaning against the windows. He lets out a small, huffed laugh, and half a second a later has Rebekah pinned by the throat. “I _told_ Klaus to get all of you out of town,” he snarls.

Then he’s skidding backward, having been shoved away from Rebekah by a glowering Hayley. “We need your help.”

“Like hell—”

“Hope’s missing.”

There’s a pregnant pause. “What do you mean she’s missing?”

Hayley whips the photo of River like a Frisbee to Marcel, who deftly snatches it out of the air. “That’s her girlfriend. She was kidnapped sometime in the middle of the night and used as bait to draw Hope out. We don’t know who has them or what they want.”

“Why the hell did you bring her girlfriend here?”

Rebekah’s eyes narrow in disbelief. “We didn’t bring her here, you wanker, she came of her own volition. And that’s hardly the point.”

“Marcel.” Hayley steps forward, hands reaching out in supplication. “They’re seventeen. They’re kids. They didn’t—they didn’t _ask_ for this, Hope didn’t _ask_ for a family that would put her in danger.”

Marcel licks his lips. “Yeah well maybe if you hadn’t come back here in the first place, this never would have happened.”

“I made my daughter a _promise_ , and I will _not_ apologize for keeping it.” She rips the photo from Marcel’s hand. “Are you going to help us or not?”

Marcel’s eyes dart between the two women. His loathing for the Mikaelson family boils hot just beneath his skin, but these are kids, girls barely older than Davina had been when she was first dragged into the dangerous mess that is New Orleans. He sighs again, and gently takes the picture back from Hayley. “I’ll help, if only to get you out of my city.” He studies the photo. “Let me make a few calls.”

 

* * *

 

Freya’s hands move slowly over a map of New Orleans, Klaus’s blood gleaming red in the sunlight. Her eyes are screwed tight as she feels for any trace of her niece’s presence in the Quarter—but the blood remains stagnant, a threatening lump on the paper.

Klaus prowls around the room. “How have you not found her yet?”

“Brother,” Elijah begins, but Freya cuts him off. “She’s being cloaked. I can tell she’s here, within the city, but…” She slouches, eyes opening wearily. “I can’t pin down a location.”

Klaus roars, punching a hole into the brick of the compound wall. Elijah pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is our next move, Freya?”

With half a shrug, she says, “I suppose it’s up to Marcel to—” She cuts herself off, eyes widening with a sudden idea. “The venom.”

“What venom?” Kol asks, entering the room with a blood bag in hand.

Freya stands. “Elijah, Kol, River’s venom was used in the cure for your bites. The salve was applied directly to your open wounds, and it’s been less than twenty-four hours—I’m willing to bet that venom is still in your systems.”

“You want to do a locator spell on _River_ ,” Elijah clarifies.

“It may not work,” Freya hedges. “They may have her cloaked, too. But if whoever’s doing the cloaking didn’t think we’d have the means to track her…”

“They might not have wasted the energy trying to hide her,” Klaus finishes. Freya nods. “Do it.”

Elijah tears open the side of his hand with his teeth and lets his blood spill over the map, a macabre rainstorm of red.

 

* * *

 

“ _What_?”

Theo sighs. “I want you to revoke any claim you have to the power granted to us by our ancestors.”

Hope throws her hands up. “Fine! I revoke it! I renounce the stupid ancestors! Will you let River go now?”

Rolling her eyes, Theo says, “It’s not so _simple_ , Hope. There’s a process to these things. And don’t you want to know what you’ll be giving up?”

“A legacy of psychos like you?”

“Cute. No. You’re luckier than most of us, Hope. Your power doesn’t derive directly from the consecration of your ancestors. Your power comes from a number of sources, making you quite the little Energizer Bunny.” She ends her sentence with a bitter laugh.

“So why are you so concerned about my connection to _these_ ancestors?” Hope asks.

“Because even though your power doesn’t solely trace back to them, you _are_ connected to them. Your grandmother, the witch Esther, was consecrated among our people. Therefore, you have a direct link to their power. I want that link severed.”

“Again, wh—”

“Our own link to the ancestors was severed fifteen years ago, when our _regent_ , Vincent Griffith, blew it up. Literally.” She laughs humorlessly. “For fifteen years we have been scraping by on what little power we can gather on our own. But we’re seeking to change that.”

“How?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Theo snaps. “But know this: when our power is restored, you will have no part of it.”

“Am I really that much of a threat to you?” Hope asks in disbelief. “If anything, I’d probably want to help the witches of New Orleans since, you know, I am one.”

“We don’t trust you,” Theo says bluntly. “You may be a witch, but you are a Mikaelson, too. And the Mikaelsons have brought nothing but chaos and destruction to this city since they first washed up on its shores. We don’t want your help. We want you gone.”

Hope nods to River. “So this is what you’re offering? I renounce this connection, and you let her go free?”

“Seems simple, doesn’t it?”

Hope stares at the body of her girlfriend, barely moving with each breath. Finally she says quietly, “I’ll do it.”

Theo’s answering grin is wicked. “Excellent!” She lifts a hand to blast a gap into the salt line. “Let’s get started then.”

 

* * *

 

“Alright, thanks.” Marcel hangs up, presses the top of his phone against his lips as he spends a few moments processing what he’d just learned. Then he turns to face the others. “I think I may know who’s behind this.”

Hayley looks up from her own phone. “The witches.”

“How did you—”

She jiggles the device. “Freya just texted. They tracked River to the City of the Dead.”

Rebekah’s brow furrows. “What would the witches want with Hope?”

“There’s this Algiers witch, Theo, who had a dream or a vision or whatever about Hope, the night she and Vincent came to spring Klaus free.”

“And how do you know about the dreams of witches?” Rebekah asks, suspicious.

Marcel’s answering smile is forced. “Because she was in my bed at the time.”

Rebekah’s face freezes. Hayley shoots her a look. “Can we not do this now?” She turns back to Marcel. “I swear to god, if one more witch has a vision about my daughter—”

“She seemed to think that Hope being in New Orleans was a threat to the witches’ power. She didn’t go into detail, and I didn’t ask. I thought once Hope left she’d be gone for good, so it wouldn’t matter.”

“Yes, well, a plan to neutralize the threat that a teenage girl poses isn’t exactly pillow talk, is it?”

“Rebekah!” Hayley huffs out a sigh. “Well, they’ve got her now, and whatever they’re planning on doing, we’re going to stop them.” She marches for the door, but a strong hand on her arm jerks her backward.

“Don’t kill Theo.” Hayley opens her mouth to argue, but Marcel talks over her. “This isn’t about…listen, she’s well-respected among the covens. Vincent might be regent again, but that’s more political than anything else. If you want to keep the witches in check, killing one of their leaders is not the way to do it.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Hayley spits, before wrenching her arm free and disappearing into the entryway.

 

* * *

 

Hope is on her knees on the dais, her girlfriend crumpled on the ground mere feet away. Her forehead, arms, and chest are covered in markings she can’t understand, drawn on her skin by Theo’s finger dipped into some black paste. Candles cover nearly every horizontal surface in sight, and Theo stands behind the altar, arms raised. “ _Fen lyen ki, rejte timoun nan_ ,” she chants, face tipped up toward the noon sun. “ _Fen lyen ki, rejte timoun nan. Fen lyen ki, rejte timoun nan._ ” She looks down at Hope and nods.

Hope takes a deep breath. “Ancestors of New Orleans, I renounce—”

“What the hell is this?”

Hope twists around abruptly to see Marcel Gerard striding up to the dais. Theo’s eyes narrow. “This doesn’t concern you, Marcel.”

Marcel gestures toward River. “Really. Seems to me like you’re breaking my number one rule: _we don’t hurt kids_.”

“She’ll be fine,” Theo grits. “Once this is over, both of them can go home.”

“The hell are you doing, Theo?” Marcel says, shaking his head. “If the witches were unhappy, why didn’t you come to me?”

“Because this isn’t about vampire bullies in the Quarter, Marcel! This is about power, who has it and who’s going to get it.”

“So you had to threaten a kid to get it? That’s who you are?”

Theo draws herself up tall. “What, you thought that because we slept together you knew me?” Marcel is silent. “Wake up, Marcel. This city is tearing itself apart, has been for years. The witches are looking to _survive_ , and this?” She gestures to the interrupted ritual. “This is just the first step.”

“Yeah, well, it’s also the last.” Theo’s knocked back by a harsh blow, and when she gathers herself again, both of the girls are missing. Her head whips back and forth, eyes wide as she looks for them. “They’re gone, Theo, back where they belong. And you?” Suddenly, Marcel’s face is inches from her own, and there’s a loud clanging sound. She looks down to see shackles around her wrists. “You’re coming with me.”

 

* * *

 

Hope and River sit side-by-side on a shredded couch inside the compound. River’s leaning heavily into Hope’s side, and Hope continuously brings water to her lips, trying to flush the wolfsbane out of her system. Hayley paces in front of them, chewing on her nails. “What the hell were you thinking?” she demands. “Either one of you could have _died_ with those witches.”

“What was I supposed to do, Mom?” Hope snaps. “They took her and told me to come alone. I sure as hell wasn’t going to risk anything.”

“We could have come up with a _plan_ , Hope, instead of putting both of you in jeopardy. I taught you to be more responsible than this.”

“Yeah, well, you also taught me to take care of the people I love, so I guess this is your fault.”

Hayley’s nostrils flare, but Elijah puts a calming hand on her shoulder. “I think what your mother is trying to say,” he interjects kindly, “is that we were all very worried about you, and should you ever find yourself in a situation like this again, perhaps asking your family for help wouldn’t be entirely out of the question.”

Klaus stalks into the room, stopping right in front of his daughter before squatting down to look her in the eye. “What did they want?”

“Klaus!” Hayley scolds, but Klaus ignores her. “What did the witches want from you?”

Hope tips her head to the side so it’s resting atop River’s. “She wanted me to sever my link to the witches’ ancestors. She wanted me to give up access to their power.”

Klaus and Elijah exchange a long, significant look, before Elijah asks, “Did she explain why?”

“Apparently I’m some kind of threat. They don’t like the idea of a Mikaelson witch being juiced up on New Orleans power, especially when they actually get it back.”

Klaus’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “When they get it—” His eyes blow wide with realization. “They’re going to reestablish the connection with the ancestors.”

“Can that even be done?” Elijah asks. “Davina imploded that connection from the inside.”

“It can be done,” Freya says, walking into the room. “But the sacrifice they would need to do it…no Harvest ritual would engender enough power. The sacrifice would have to be enormous.”

“Like a miracle werewolf-vampire-witch child?” Hayley asks quietly.

Everyone’s eyes turn slowly to Hope, who stares back, wide-eyed and speechless.

 

* * *

 

The tunnels beneath New Orleans are vast and sprawling, connecting every important landmark and structure. Just below Marcel’s building, the tunnels open up into a nice little cavern, where, chained to a wall, Theo sits, glaring at the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, a rat, illuminated by the candles on a small ledge, scurries from shadow to shadow, making Theo’s skin crawl. Her wrists are already aching from their time in the shackles, cursed long ago to prevent their prisoner from performing magic. Even though she wants more than anything to rip herself free from the wall, she remains icily still, not giving her captor any satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

Marcel stands a few feet away, arms crossed. “Theo, Theo, Theo.” He slowly lowers himself into a crouch. A dangerous smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What am I going to do with you?”

At a glacial pace, Theo turns her face up to look at him, her expression unreadable. Once she’s locked eyes with him, a relaxed, sinister smile of her own breaks out across her face. “No Marcel,” she whispers, voice raspy. “The question is, what are _we_ going to do with your bodies once we’ve killed you all?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ninth episode, "Chasing Old Ideas," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	9. Episode Nine: Chasing Old Ideas

Vincent stumbles through the dank tunnels beneath New Orleans, tripping his way into a large, dimly lit cavern. He brushes a hand roughly along the sleeve of his jacket. “Damn, Marcel. You sure know how to make a guy feel…” He trails off, spotting Theo LeRoy chained to the wall. “Special.”

Marcel’s lounging against the far wall of the cavern. “She’s not talking.”

Vincent doesn’t look at the vampire. “Yeah, I bet.” He slowly approaches Theo, who glares back. “What the hell are you up to?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

Vincent finally shoots Marcel a disparaging look. “You think I’d authorize some of my witches to torture a teenage girl?”

In a quiet, rough voice, Theo scoffs, “ _Your_ witches.”

The men’s eyes snap to her. “That’s right,” Vincent says. He crouches low, looking Theo dead in the eye. “ _My_ witches. Y’all elected _me_ your regent after realizing that some kid from the Ninth Ward wasn’t gonna cut it.”

“We elected you regent because the position became _meaningless_ ,” Theo spits, teeth bared. “After you _betrayed_ us by eliminating our connection to our ancestors, the regent’s power came only from politics, and none of us could be bothered to fix what you broke. So yeah, we elected you regent, and let you and Marcel have your fun playing kings while the rest of us did the real work behind the scenes.”

A small smirk plays across Vincent’s face as he rubs his hands together. “She’ll talk to me. But you gotta go.”

“No way,” Marcel says, pushing off the wall. “I’m staying for every minute of this.”

“Either you trust me to get the information or you don’t, but I’m tellin’ you now, she ain’t gonna talk with you here.”

Marcel’s nostrils flare as he narrows his eyes at Theo. “Fine. I’ll be up at my place. Just…” He gestures vaguely as he turns to disappear into the tunnels. “…figure out what the hell is going on.”

“Don’t worry.” Vincent cocks his head to the side, regarding Theo shrewdly. “I will.”

 

* * *

 

Hope pads down the stairs into the courtyard, still dressed in her pajamas. Her father stands with her back to her. “Hey.”

He turns, face lighting up. “Good morning, luv.” He steps to the side to reveal a table covered in pastries. “Breakfast is here.”

With a laugh, Hope approaches the mountain of baked goods. “That is…a lot of food.”

“I wanted you to taste the best New Orleans has to offer.” He snags a pastry off of a tray. “Have you ever had a beignet?” Hope shakes her head. “Well you’ll never have one quite like the ones in this city.”

“Not even in France?” Hope asks skeptically, taking the beignet.

Klaus scoffs. “Forget the French. New Orleans is the true birthplace of the beignet.”

Hope takes a bite. Her eyes slide shut and she moans, “Crap.”

“Told you.” He holds out a tray laden with the pastries. “I thought you might like to take some up to your girlfriend.” Hope opens her eyes, surprised. “How is she?”

Taking the tray, Hope says, “She’s still asleep. Had a couple of nightmares during the night. She seems to be mostly healed now, though.”

Klaus nods. “I’m glad.” Swallowing thickly, he looks away, awkward. “You best return to her. I imagine she…could use your support. And you should eat up, too.”

“Eat quickly.” Father and daughter turn to see Hayley striding into the courtyard, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “We’re leaving.”

Klaus and Hope exchange a confused look. “Leaving?” Hope asks.

“Yep. We’re getting out of this city before Marcel or the witches or anyone else decides to remove us.”

Klaus squares himself. “I’m not leaving until the witches answer for what they have done.”

The duffel bag hits the floor. “Are you out of your mind, Klaus? Forget revenge, I’m trying to keep everyone safe.”

“Mom, he’s right.” Hayley glares at her daughter. “Look, we don’t even know what the witches really want from me—”

“And we’re not going to find out.”

“Listen to your mother.” Hope’s jaw drops as she regards her father with a look of betrayal. “One night in this city and they tried to hurt you, succeeded in hurting someone you care about.” Klaus nods to Hayley. “Your mother will take you and River far away from here. I will follow once I have eliminated the threat to you.”

“No.”

“Hope—”

“ _No_. I am not running away. Something is going on in this city and I’m not leaving until I figure out what it is.” She whips around and stalks back up the stairs. “And I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

 

* * *

 

Vincent’s sitting on the dirt floor of the cavern, arms resting on his knees. Eyes narrowed, he asks, “What did you want with Hope Mikaelson?” No answer. “Marcel told me about your little ritual down at the cemetery. Didn’t seem like you wanted her dead, and yet…” Two pieces of the puzzle connect in his mind. “Were you the one who told Alistair Duquesne that Hope was in town?” No answer, but Theo’s eyes slide away to the floor.

Nodding, Vincent muses, “So you tried to have her killed. That didn’t work. So why not kill her when you lured her to the City of the Dead? Why go through some ritual when you could have consecrated her power?”

Gritting her teeth, Theo looks back up at Vincent. “Killing her was only Plan A. But you know witches. We always have a Plan B in our back pocket.”

“What was the ritual?”

Theo’s face cracks open into a smile. “Does it bother you at all that witches from every coven in New Orleans have been organizing behind your back for the past five years? How does it feel to know that we have been plotting to overthrow you and the rest of this _mockery_ of a peace right under your nose, and you never had a clue?”

Letting himself be pulled off-topic, Vincent snaps, “What did y’all expect from me? Those ancestors were ruining our lives.”

“They gave us _power_!”

“There _was_ no power with them!” Vincent’s voice echoes off the brick walls. “They had all the power! They told us what to do, and if we didn’t listen, they killed us, or got some vampires to do the dirty work for ‘em! The ancestors had to go if we were to be a free people.”

“And are we free, Vincent? Our magical abilities are a fraction of what they used to be, and Marcel Gerard still calls the shots in this city. Tell me how we’re better off now than we were fifteen years ago.”

“Tell you how—how about the fact that there’s not open war in the streets? How about our _children_ not being sacrificed and slaughtered? How about the fact that with the Mikaelsons gone—”

“But the Mikaelsons aren’t gone, Vincent! You brought them back here!”

Vincent tips his head back against the brick, loosing a frustrated groan. “I brought Hope back so that she would _finally_ free New Orleans of Klaus Mikaelson’s presence. I had no idea they all would come back after the fact.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?”

“No.” Vincent sighs. “I guess not.” They sit in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of pipes rattling in the walls. Eventually Vincent asks, “What’s the grand plan, Theo?”

Theo rolls her eyes. “What do you think the grand plan is? We only have one option, one action we can take to reclaim our former glory.”

Vincent’s faces drops as realization washes over him. “No.”

“Yes, Vincent. After five years of meticulous planning and preparation, we finally have all of the pieces in place to reestablish the connection with our ancestors, making the witches once again the most formidable force in all of New Orleans.”

 

* * *

 

River awakens to a delicious smell. Sitting up slowly, she looks around. There’s a plate of some kind of pastry at the foot of the bed, and the doors to the outer balcony are open, a light breeze wafting in to the room. Excited, River takes a pastry off of the plate, her fingers instantly coated in powdered sugar, and pops it into her mouth. “Damn,” she says to herself, the word barely audible around the food.

“Good, huh?” Hope walks into the room from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. “Beignets, from my dad.”

“He made these?”

“God no,” Hope laughs. “Probably compelled some poor pastry chef to make them for him. But I guess it’s the thought that counts.” She tosses her toothbrush into her bag and then sits on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “How are you feeling?”

River shrugs, and then winces. “I’m okay. Sore, more than anything. Still kind of tripped out on wolfsbane, I think.” She reaches for another beignet. “Are we planning on heading home soon?”

Hope thinks on that question for a minute. As much as she wants to stay and get to the bottom of whatever the witches are scheming, she knows that River never signed up to be bait, never volunteered to join her family’s dangerous world. Hope would like more than anything to stay by River’s side, but if River wants to leave…

“Whenever you’re ready,” Hope finally answers. “Whenever you’re ready, we can get you back to Tallahassee.”

River looks confused. “Why does that sounds like you won’t be coming with me?”

“Because…” Hope sighs. “Because there are things I need to do here, things that you shouldn’t have to sit through. Your parents are probably freaking out—”

“Forget my parents, I’m not just going to walk away from you.”

“This isn’t your fight!”

“Well it’s not yours either!”

“But it is!” Hope pushes herself off the bed, starts pacing around the room. “I know it doesn’t make sense. I only spent a fraction of my life here, years I can’t even remember, but no matter where I go or how long I’m gone for, this city is always going to be a part of me. And right now…it’s in trouble. And maybe I can help.”

“And what if these—these witches want to _sacrifice_ you?”

“It won’t come to that.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because they had the chance to and they didn’t?” Hope sighs. “I don’t know what they want. I don’t know what’s going on, that’s why I need to stay and figure it out. And maybe…maybe the witches aren’t the bad guys in all this.”

River looks like she’s been slapped. “They drugged and _kidnapped_ me in the middle of the night.”

“I know, I know, it’s just…” Hope sits back on the bed and grabs River’s hand. “If they really are trying to regain the power that they lost fifteen years ago…can I blame them? I can’t imagine suddenly losing all of the power I’ve lived with for my entire life. The trauma of it…”

River rests back against the headboard, contemplative. “Okay. So we stay.”

“We—”

“If you’re in this, I’m in this. I’m a wolf, remember? I’m not running away with my tail between my legs.”

Hope bites her lip and smiles. “I’m glad I have you on my team.”

“Me too.”

“Oh!” Hope digs in her pocket. “I almost forgot.” She removes a thin leather cord. “This fell off when we were in the cemetery. My mom saved it.” She hands the necklace to River.

River accepts the jewelry. “Thank you.” She fingers the pendant, a small, black river rock with a hole bored into the top for the cord to slide through. “My parents gave this to me. It’s a rock from the Rio. My dad picked it up the day I was born.” She smiles pensively. “I know what it’s like to miss the place you’re from.”

Hope’s answering smile is soft, but quickly turns into a frown. “Oh no.” She lifts the cord to inspect it. “It’s torn. Don’t want it to break.” Hope wraps her hand around the tear in the leather and closes her eyes. After a few moments, she opens them and reveals the cord, completely fixed.

River’s jaw drops as she stares in awe at the cord. “Okay, I am never going to get used to that.” She looks up at her girlfriend to thank her, but before she can speak, her expression turns to horror. “Hope!”

Shocked by River’s outburst, Hope touches her face in surprise, and pulls her hand away to see a spot of blood. “Oh.” She darts away from the bed, grabbing a towel and pressing it to her nose. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” River starts to push herself out of bed, but Hope shoos her back in. “Hope, you’ve got a nosebleed.”

“It’s fine,” Hope says dismissively. She checks her nose; the bleeding has stopped. “Don’t worry about me. You…get some rest. I’m going to go see if I can steal some more beginets from my dad.” Before River can argue, Hope’s out the door.

 

* * *

 

Vincent paces the length of the cavern as Theo watches, almost bored. “This is a terrible plan.”

“We’re not stupid, Vincent.” Theo rolls her eyes. “Asking Davina Claire to blow up the channels that connected us to our ancestors may have been the most reckless and inconceivable thing you have ever done, but you weren’t wrong. The ancestors’ control over our decisions was unsustainable. The dead had more of a say than the living, and you were right to want to change that. So we’ve made some…adjustments.”

Vincent stops pacing. “What adjustments?” Theo only responds with a mysterious smile. “Seriously, Theo? _Tell me what you’re planning._ ”

“Well I can’t give away all of our secrets, can I?” Theo stretches her legs, trying to get more comfortable. “Maybe if you let me out…”

“Maybe I’ll let you out if you tell me what you’re planning.”

“The details are irrelevant. What I’m planning is security, a way to ensure that the witches don’t just survive, but thrive. We are _tired_ , Vincent. Tired of bowing to vampires, to the Mikaelsons, to regents, hell, to our own ancestors. The witches of New Orleans aren’t just looking for freedom. We’re looking to rule.”

Vincent’s eyebrows fly up in surprise. “To rule? And let me guess, you’ll be queen.”

“Well…” Theo gives an amused, self-deprecating shrug. “It’s been proposed.”

“No.” Vincent tosses his hand up. “No, this is insane. These covens are a _community_ , you can’t just unilaterally—”

Theo barks out a laugh. “ _You’re_ really going to lecture me on decisions made unilaterally?” Vincent falls silent. “And besides, there are dozens of us. We’re not some small faction, we are representative of every coven in the city.” She looks Vincent dead in the eye. “Change _is_ coming, Vincent. It’s time for you to make a choice. Will you stand with your witches as they seek to regain control of their city—or will you die defending the status quo?”

Vincent stares at her for a long while, both of their faces unreadable. Then, without a word, he turns on his heel and vanishes into the tunnels, leaving Theo in her prison.

 

* * *

 

Elijah steps into the library to find Klaus tearing it apart. He leans against the door nonchalantly, a hand sliding into his pocket. “Do you need assistance, Niklaus?”

Digging through a pile of junk heaped into a corner, Klaus snarks, “Now that you’ve mentioned it, some help would be appreciated, but fret not, brother.” He shoots an impetuous look at Elijah. “I am quite used to being the sole defender of his family.”

Elijah’s face blossoms into a raised-eyebrow expression of disbelief. “Is that what you believe, brother? Is that how you would speak of the past fifteen years, during which the mother of your child single-handedly pieced this family back together?”

“Spare me your lecture, Elijah.” Klaus tugs a long dagger from the pile and tosses it into an open duffel bag beside him. “I have witches to kill.”

“Must you be so reckless so soon after your return to the world?” Elijah asks.

“They came for my _child_ , Elijah!” Klaus thunders, appearing suddenly before his brother. “Do not ask me to look the other way while they lure her into a trap! What if the next time they don’t want to take her power, but her life?”

Extending a hand toward his brother, Elijah says, “And what of your child, Niklaus? What will she think of you when she learns you have gone on a killing spree, murdering witches just like her?”

“These witches are _not_ like her!” Klaus spits. “And she will think that her father is her stalwart defender, ready and willing to eliminate any threat to her safety.”

Dragging his finger along the broken desk, Elijah muses, “Yes, that worked wonderfully with Rebekah, didn’t it?”

Klaus’s expression sours. “Listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me!” Elijah brings his face inches from Klaus’s. “You have, not for the first time in your endless life, the opportunity to decide exactly the sort of man you wish to be. More importantly, you have the opportunity to decide the sort of man you wish your daughter to know. If your first instinct is always to seek revenge, that is what Hope will learn from you, and not only will it _ruin_ her, it just might get her killed.” With that, Elijah spins on his heel and stalks from the room, leaving a speechless and humbled Klaus in his wake.

 

* * *

 

There’s a long, narrow crypt made of crumbling stone on the east side of Lafayette Cemetery. Over the entrance is carved a name: _LeRoy_. Vincent pushes open the heavy door, revealing a tiny work table covered in parchments, candles, and other evidence of magic. “Let’s see what Theo’s been up to.”

Marcel stands in the doorway, watching Vincent rummage through Theo’s belongings. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“We know that Theo’s looking to reconnect to the ancestors,” Vincent explains. “But I don’t know how she plans on keeping them in check.”

“Well you said she was gonna be in charge at the end of all this, yeah?”

“Yeah, and I don’t know about you, but she’s not exactly the kind of person I’m lookin’ for in a leader.” He holds a piece of parchment up to the light streaming in from a small round window in the stone. “This is beyond me, man. The magic she’s trying to do ain’t been done before. It’s not going to be so easily recognizable. I need help.” He sighs and looks out the window.

Then an idea strikes him. “I know where to go.”

Brow furrowed, Marcel asks, “There’s someone in this city who’s gonna know when you don’t?”

“There is.” Vincent turns to look at him. “But you ain’t gonna like it.”

 

* * *

 

Klaus is storming toward the exit of the compound when he pulls up short, his duffel bag full of weapons and dark objects clanging at his side. “To what do we owe this unwelcome surprise?”

Vincent and Marcel block his path out. “We need to talk to Hope,” Vincent says.

“Absolutely not.” Klaus squares his shoulders. “Your witches tried to steal my daughter’s power, you’re not going anywhere near her.”

“Klaus, you gotta believe, I had no idea that they were going to do this, otherwise I would’ve warned you.”

“So I should just take you at your word, let you have access to my child?”

Marcel rolls his eyes. “We’re trying to _help_ Hope, Klaus. Whatever Theo and the others were up to when they took her, they’re still trying to complete their mission. We need her help to stop them.”

“You can’t expect—”

“Dad.”

All three men look up to see Hope leaning against the balcony, watching them. She nods to her father. “I want to help.”

 

* * *

 

Everyone gathers around the grand staircase, the family scattered along the steps, facing Vincent and Marcel. From his place on the landing above, Klaus calls down, “Tell us what you know.”

Nodding, Vincent begins. “We know that Theo LeRoy, the witch who kidnapped Hope’s girlfriend and used her as bait, is leading a faction of witches who are seeking to reestablish the connection to the ancestors.”

“She told me that much,” Hope agrees, sitting about halfway up the left staircase, River a step above her. “I don’t really know what that means.”

“Well that’s what I was hoping to learn from you,” Vincent says. “Did she anything about how she was gonna do it?”

Hope shakes her head. “That wasn’t really what we talked about. She was less concerned about the covens’ connection with the ancestors and more concerned with mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“She means that this witch tried to get Hope to reject her connection to the ancestors,” Hayley snarls.

Vincent bring a fist to his lips as he contemplates this revelation. Hope tentatively offers, “She seemed…I don’t know. She seemed to think I was some kind of threat? She wouldn’t say why, just that I’m a Mikaelson and a Mikaelson shouldn’t have access to the ancestors.”

With a small nod of understanding, Vincent murmurs, “She has a point,” but then, seeing glares of disapproval, says quickly, “She has to think that you specifically have the ability to throw some kind of wrench in her plans.”

“Here.” Marcel approaches Hope, reaching up to hand her a small stack of parchments. “These are Theo’s. Take a look, see if anything looks significant.”

Hope takes the parchment and scans each page. They’re covered in runes and chicken-scratch. “This is for the ritual?”

“We think so,” Marcel answers.

Freya climbs the stairs to peer over Hope’s shoulder. Hope points at something. “This is the incantation she was using when she tried to unlink me from the ancestors.”

Freya examines that page more closely. “All of this is about the connection, linking and unlinking. But this here—” She pulls a sheet with a complicated diagram on it out from the stack. “It’s a linking spell, but something I’ve never seen before.” She looks up at Vincent. “Could she be trying to link someone to the ancestors?”

“I think she’s trying to link _all_ of us to the ancestors,” Vincent answers dryly.

“Here’s a thought.” Everyone turns to look at Kol, who’s lounging at the very top of the right staircase. “Why don’t we just leave this shitty town in our rearview, avoid this mess altogether?”

“For once, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I agree with Kol,” Hayley says. “This is New Orleans witch business, and we shouldn’t be a part of it.”

Hope starts to argue, “ _I’m_ a New Orleans witch, Mom!” but Vincent lifts a hand to stem her tirade. “I understand that you have no reason to help us, but if this doesn’t go right, our people could be in serious trouble.”

Hayley opens her mouth, but Elijah cuts in smoothly, “Why don’t you let us discuss this matter as a family?”

Vincent looks as if he wants to argue, but Marcel nods. “Yeah, alright. Take some time. But know this: if you don’t help us take these witches down, I will make sure your asses are out of my city before nightfall tomorrow.” He looks at Vincent and jerks his head toward the door, and the two of them leave.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, surrounded by bowls (and pots and mugs) of crawfish étouffée, the family is once again gathered on the staircase. Hayley stabs at her food angrily. “We’re not staying.”

“Mom, you heard Vincent. He needs our help.”

“And I feel bad for him. But my job is to keep you safe, and you aren’t safe here. And neither is your girlfriend.”

“We _owe_ Vincent,” Hope insists. “He helped me rescue Dad!”

Rebekah hums. “Maybe not the _best_ argument in favor of helping him.” She smiles at the nasty look Klaus shoots her.

“Theo knows something we don’t know,” Hope says. “In some way or another, I’m important to her plans. If we can figure out why she’s so threatened by me, maybe we can figure out how to stop her from reconnecting with the ancestors.”

“Wouldn’t it make you more powerful, though?” River asks around a mouthful of crawfish. She swallows. “If this ancestral connection is… _reconnected_ , wouldn’t you get that power, too?”

“I think that’s part of the problem,” Hope says. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need more power.”

River doesn’t miss how Hope unconsciously touches just below her nose, as if checking for blood.

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet, Niklaus,” Elijah calls. “Any thoughts on the matter?”

Klaus leans his head back against the metal banister with a put-upon sigh. “I do abhor giving the witches of this city any assistance. However, the ancestors have caused quite enough trouble in our lives, I should think.”

“They can’t cause us any more trouble if we’re _not here_ ,” Hayley argues.

“Hayley’s right,” Rebekah says. “Forget this city, forget these witches. Isn’t time we left this madness behind us, spent time with the family that was torn apart for fifteen years?”

Klaus locks eyes with his daughter, who’s sitting opposite him on the other half of the staircase. She silently pleads with him, and he knows that this is important to her. “We’re staying.”

Hope’s face lights up, and Hayley’s shoulders sag. “Klaus—”

“Hope knows better than any of us the threat that these witches pose, and the even bigger threat that the ancestors do. If she is asking me to stay and fight…well what kind of father would I be if I didn’t go into battle for my daughter?”

Hope’s smile is one of sweet disbelief. _Thank you_ , she mouths to her father, and he nods back.

“Well you all have fun.” Kol drops his bowl onto the top landing and stands up. “I think I’ll be leaving now.”

Klaus rolls his eyes. “Sit down, Kol, we’re too tired for your antics tonight.”

“These aren’t antics, brother. I simply…can’t stay.”

Rebekah pulls herself to her feet. “Kol. You’re not serious.”

“I am.” He smiles softly. “I’ve spent the day thinking on it. There are reasons I do wish to remain with you lot—not only to better know the niece I…may have mistreated.” Hope blinks up at him in surprise. “But this city…this city took everything from me. Things I cannot get back. I need…” He trails off, unable to finish his thought.

Rebekah slowly climbs the stairs to be beside her brother. She kisses his cheek. “Time. You need time. Take as much of it as you need. You know we’ll be here for you.”

“Always and forever,” Klaus says, a half-smirk on his face.

Kol descends the steps to crouch just above Hope. “Hope Mikaelson. You know, I never much cared for children.” Hope gives a little frown and squints, unsure if she’s being insulted. “But you…you’ve got that Mikaelson tenacity that is impossible to ignore. I like that about you.” He looks down. “I apologize for my behavior toward you. Both of you,” he adds, nodding to River. “I hope that one day I can be a proper uncle to you. I have a rather impressive stash of magical artifacts that I think you’d be keen on.”

He nods to Freya. “Listen to your aunt. She’s the only one here who’s got half a clue what she’s doing. She’ll be able to help you.” He gives her a significant look, and a thought flashes in Hope’s mind: _He knows._ “I’ll be back, baby Mikaelson. And when I do, I expect to find the most powerful witch in the world waiting for me.” He gives a melancholic smile. To the room he says, “Try not to have too much fun without me,” and then he’s gone, leaving his siblings to once again adjust to his absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tenth episode, "I Live and Breathe Under the Moon," is already available on the Tumblr peopleandrhythm at this time.


	10. Episode Ten: I Live and Breathe Under the Moon

Mary Dumas shuffles slowly about her cabin, setting her rickety dining table for tea. The tin kettle on the stove whistles, and she’s just taking it off the burner when there’s a loud rapping at her door. She hobbles over, and when the door creaks open, she’s greeted by the bright grin of her great-granddaughter. “Grandma Mary!”

“Oh, look at you!” Hope throws her arms around Mary, and Mary squeezes her back. “You’ve grown like a weed!”

Hope pulls back. “Well, you haven’t seen me since I was thirteen.”

“That’s your mother’s fault. She moved you all the way to Montana. These old bones couldn’t handle that cold.” She gives a fake shiver, and Hope laughs. Mary looks over Hope’s shoulder to see Hayley and another young woman, smiling shyly. “Who’s this?”

“Oh!” Hope steps back and gestures to the girl. “Grandma Mary, this is my girlfriend, River. River, this is Mary.”

Mary feigns a stern glare for a few moments, and the girl’s eyes widen in fear, but then she smiles and hugs her. “I’m just playin’ with ya. Welcome to the bayou of Louisiana.”

River’s surprised by the hug, but says, “Thanks! It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hope tells me you’ve gone and activated your werewolf gene,” Mary says once the hug’s over.

Nodding, River says, “Tonight’s my first full moon.”

“Well don’t worry. We’ll get you taken care of. You two come on in, I’m gonna have a word with your momma.” The girls obey, closing the door behind them and leaving Mary and Hayley on the porch. “Didn’t think you’d come back to New Orleans, did you?”

“I always knew I had to,” Hayley says. “The spell on Mikaelsons needed to be broken on New Orleans soil.”

Mary gives a begrudging _harrumph_ , and says, “Well, I was hopin’…”

Hayley sighs heavily. “Mary, c’mon…”

“Now I know they’re important to you—”

“And to my daughter. They’re her family, just like you are, and I promised her that I would bring them back for her.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe she’s better off without that lot in her life?”

“Did you ever consider that you’re not the first person to ask me that?”

They’re silent for a moment, both calming down. Then Mary asks, “Surprised you didn’t bring Elijah with you. Surprised but glad.”

“Well I figured there’s no point in starting a fight when today’s supposed to be about River. Besides, he’s leading the charge to make the compound fit for people to live in.”

“Good. No vampires in my cabin.”

“I know, Mary.” She nods toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get started.”

 

* * *

 

“Do be careful,” Elijah calls. The two workers hefting a bookcase up the stairs freeze. “That’s solid oak.” The workers nod and continue their climb.

“Brother.” Elijah turns to see Freya approaching, the spells stolen from Theo’s tomb in her hand. “I think I know what the sacrifice will be.”

Elijah immediately abandons his mission to focus on his sister. “You’ve decoded Theo LeRoy’s spells?”

Freya nods, and Klaus and Rebekah walk in from the kitchen. “Tell us what you know,” the former demands.

“It’s a Harvest ritual,” Freya begins.

“Well that make sense,” Rebekah juts in. “If the Harvest is how they typically renew their connection, it should also be how they forge a new one.”

“You didn’t let me finish. It’s a Harvest, but instead of four teenage girls, they’re going to use nine.”

Freya’s younger siblings’ jaws drop. “ _Nine_?” Elijah asks incredulously.

“What the bloody hell do they want to sacrifice nine girls for?” Rebekah says.

Freya explains, “Previously, only French Quarter witches were used in Harvest rituals, and only the French Quarter coven had dominion over the ancestors. My guess is that in an effort to make things more equitable, all nine covens are going to be participating in this particular Harvest. After all, Theo’s not from the French Quarter. She’s from the Algiers coven.”

“They’re not just seeking to reconnect to their ancestors,” Klaus growls. “They want to become more powerful than they’ve ever been before.”

“This would explain why Theo was so determined to sever Hope’s link to the ancestors,” Elijah points out. “If she were to receive the same power as the rest of them—”

“My daughter would be unstoppable,” Klaus interrupts.

Rebekah snarks, “And he’s already planning to use his own child in his machinations toward world domination.”

Klaus opens his mouth hotly, but Freya cuts him off. “I worry what would happen if Hope really were to gain this additional power from the ancestors.”

“Why?” Elijah asks.

“You all saw her the night we were freed from the Chambre de Chasse. She warded off fifty witches by herself. That kind of power is strong. Consuming. If the power of generations of New Orleans witches were added to that…”

Klaus’s face is grave. “You think it will overwhelm her.”

Freya shrugs. “It’s impossible to predict. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a possibility.”

Nodding, Klaus says, “I still think our safest course of action would be to ensure that this Harvest never happens. The last thing anyone needs is for the witches of this city to become more powerful than ever before.”

Flipping through the parchment, Freya says, “Well, from what I’ve read in these, Theo’s been the one preparing for the Harvest, so as long as Marcel has her locked up, we should be in the clear.”

 

* * *

 

River wanders around Mary’s cabin, looking at everything. It’s small, with just two main rooms, plus a bathroom. There’s a shelf along one wall with a large array of pictures, and that’s basically the only decoration in the spartan cabin. River picks up a frame. “Yo, who’s this guy?” She turns the photo so Hope can see. “He’s hot.”

Hope bites back a laugh. “I’d be jealous, but I’m more creeped out that you’re attracted to my stepfather.”

River nearly drops the frame. “ _What_?”

Hope gestures to the photo. “That’s Jackson. He’s Mary’s grandson…and my mom’s husband.”

River looks like she could be knocked over with a feather. “Okay, be kind, rewind.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Hayley was _married_?”

Nodding, Hope explains, “It’s this whole thing, this ritual that the wolves did. I was about a year old, I don’t remember it.” Her face softens into something melancholic. “He was killed, about a year after he and my mom got married. It really messed my mom up for a long time. I mean, yeah, she’s in love with my uncle Elijah, but still. I know she loved him, too.”

“Wow.” River replaces the photograph on the shelf. “That’s super sad.”

“Yeah.” Hope’s eyes flick to the front door. Her mother and great-grandmother are both outside, trying to get ahold of the new alpha of the Crescent pack. While they’re alone, Hope asks quietly, “Are you really sure you don’t want it?”

River shoots her a glare. “We talked about this.”

“I know, I know, it’s just…” She sighs. “I’ve seen wolves turn. It’s something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

“I can’t just chicken out of this,” River argues.

“It’s not chickening out! It’s a way to maintain control of your own life!”

“Look, you think I don’t like the idea of a…what’d you call it again?”

“A moonlight ring.”

“Yeah, that.” River settles onto a rickety wooden rocking chair, tucking her hands under her legs. “Of course I’m freaked out. Of course I’m scared. Literally every single square inch of my body is screaming not to do this.”

“But?”

“But.” She gently rocks herself back and forth. “But this is my legacy. I’m the last Malraux wolf in the world. An entire line of werewolves rests on my shoulders.” She shrugs. “What kind of wolf would I be if I just…bypassed the actual _being a wolf_ part because I’m scared?”

Hope sits cross-legged on the floor, resting her head against River’s knee. “I know. I just wish you didn’t have to go through this.”

“Me too.” She nudges Hope a little. “But hey. I’m not saying no forever. Chances are, this is gonna suck big time, and I’m gonna want that ring tomorrow. I just need to do this tonight.”

“Deal.”

The front door swings open, and Mary walks in, Hayley just behind her. “Alright, she’s on her way.”

“So we should be on ours,” Hayley says. “Hope, let’s go.”

“You’re not staying?” River asks nervously.

Hope hauls herself to her feet. “I need to head back to the Quarter, see if there’s anything I can do to help Vincent.” She kisses River’s forehead. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning, with clothes and coffee and food and hugs.” Hope grabs River’s hand and squeezes it tightly. “You’ve got this. My strong, brave wolf.”

Though her face betrays her uncertainty, River nods, a small smile playing across her face.

 

* * *

 

Annelise stands in the dais in the center of Lafayette Cemetery, towering above the small, babbling crowd of witches gathered before her. “Alright listen up!”

The crowd quiets, and Leanne joins Annelise on the dais. “Y’all know by now that Theo has been taken by Marcel Gerard.” The crowd reacts with hisses. Leanne raises a hand to silence them. “We gotta get her back.”

“How?” someone calls from the group, and others echo the sentiment.

“Look at us,” Annelise says, gesturing to the group. “We may not have the strength that we had before, but we have the numbers.”

“What’s the plan?” a voice demands.

The two women on the dais share a look. “There is no time for a plan,” Leanne admits. “We need to do this _now_.”

“Tonight is the full moon,” Annelise reminds everyone. “That means if we have our elder to perform the Harvest…”

Leanne finishes her sentence. “…we will complete the ritual and be reconnected with our ancestors for the first time in fifteen years. Tonight.”

 

* * *

 

River’s settled on Mary’s wicker couch, sipping her tea. “So…you’re Hope’s grandmother.”

Mary sits in the rocking chair, her own teacup in hand. “Well, technically, I’m her step-great-grandmother. But for the past fifteen years, I’ve been her only family, ‘cept her momma, so she just calls me grandma. Besides,” she adds with a sly grin. “Do I look old enough to be a great-grandmother?”

River laughs, and then there’s a knock on the door. The girl quickly sobers, and Mary hauls herself out of the chair with a groan. “I’m comin’!” she calls. She hobbles over to the door and wrenches it open. “C’mon in.”

A young woman with long, dark hair walks in. Her eyes fall on River. “So you’re the pup.”

River swallows and slowly rises to her feet. “Yeah, hi, I’m River.”

“Yeah.” The woman turns to Mary. “She arrived with the Mikaelsons?”

“Be nice, Rose,” Mary warns as she closes the cabin door. “I don’t like them Original vampires any more than you do, but she’s a kid, and she’s important to my grandbaby.”

“It’s not the Originals that I’m concerned with,” Rose says, mostly to herself. To River, “If this is your first moon, you’ve got a lot to learn. Tonight’s gonna suck. No point in beating around that bush.”

River nods. “Hayley told me that all of the bones in my body are going to break.”

Rose’s eyes flash dangerously at the mention of the hybrid’s name, but she says coolly, “That’s putting it mildly. C’mon.” She turns to exit the cabin. “We’ve got work to do.”

Surprised by the unexpected command, River scrambles after Rose, shooting Mary a scared parting glance.

 

* * *

 

Vincent’s leaning up against the brick of the tunnel wall, about as far from Theo as he can get in this small cavern. She’s still chained up, looking thoroughly worse for the wear. “Can’t you at least let me shower? I’ll keep the shackles on.” Vincent doesn’t answer. “Oh come on. What, you’re giving me the silent treatment? What's the point of even coming down here if you’re not even going to ask me stupid questions?”

“Where’d you get the spell?”

“What spell?”

“The linking spell. The one I can’t quite work out. It’s not magic I recognize.”

Theo smirks dangerously. “Finally, an interesting question. And one I can’t answer. Sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry at all.

Vincent lets that one go. “Why you? If this movement is as big as you say it is, there must be dozens of witch all clamoring to get the chance to be the biggest deal in town.”

“It was quite a democratic process—unlike the way you’ve been running things for the past decade and a half. But this whole plan is my idea, my magic, and so they thought it best that I remain in charge.”

“They.”

“They. The witches of New Orleans. The covens that have resented you for years. They chose _me_.” The smirk widens. “Jealous?”

After a minute, Vincent pushes himself off of the wall with his foot and slowly approaches Theo, stopping only when he has to look down to maintain eye contact with her. He lowers himself into a crouch, his face inches from hers. His voice a harsh whisper, he says, “You will _never_ be fit to lead these witches. You have no idea what it takes.”

Theo crooks an eyebrow in challenge. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

Before Vincent can respond, an electric, horrible pain shoots through his entire body, rattling his bones and making his brain throb. He grabs at his head and shrieks in pain, collapsing to his side. His eyes squeeze shut automatically, but he manages to wrench one open long enough to see Annelise freeing Theo from her chains and the shadows of at least a dozen more witches flickering on the walls. He hears their chants grow louder as the pain enveloping his body intensifies, and his howls deepen.

Annelise helps Theo to her feet, and the latter looks down at their regent. “Sorry, Vincent,” she says, extending a hand toward him. “But someone’s gotta lead.” With that, she focuses her energy on the spot right between Vincent’s eyes, and he blacks out.

 

* * *

 

Rose leads River on a winding tour through the bayou, the sun beating hot on the backs of their necks. As they pick their way over roots and through overgrown grasses, River observes, “You seem kind of young to be the alpha of a wolf pack.”

A few paces ahead, Rose answers, “Someone had to do it.”

“Well how long have you been the alpha?”

“About three years.”

“What happened to the alpha before you?”

Rose jerks to a stop, letting River catch up. “You ask a lot of questions.”

Startled by the vitriol in Rose’s voice, River says, “Sorry, it’s just…I don’t know how packs work. I’m the last wolf in mine, except my parents, but they never triggered their gene. I mean, I didn’t even know I was a wolf until about a week ago.”

“Well, a little piece of advice? Don’t try to weasel your way into a pack you don’t belong to.” Rose starts walking again.

River’s eyes narrow and she begins to stomp after her guide. “Hey, I didn’t ask for this either you know.”

“I don’t care.”

“Why are you so angry at me? You’ve known me for like half an hour, there’s no way I could have pissed you off _this much_.”

Rose whips around and stalks back to River. “You want to know why I’m angry? Because Hayley Marshall let our alpha get his heart ripped out right in front of her and then _abandoned_ us for a quest to save the Original vampires, and _then_ she had the _nerve_ to come back here after fifteen years and ask us for a _favor_. So yeah, if I seem a little testy, that’s why.”

River’s at a loss for words. She looks up at the seething alpha, down at the fists clenched at her side. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I…I didn’t know.”

Rose blinks rapidly, cooling herself down. “This isn’t your fault, and I get that. But…I have spent the past three years trying to fix what Hayley broke when she skipped town, so I’m not exactly in the mood to play babysitter to her daughter’s girlfriend.”

They start to walk again, side by side this time. Eventually River asks, “How did you…”

“Trigger my curse?” River nods. “The classic American story: texting and driving.”

“How long ago was that?”

“I was nineteen, so…five years, give or take.”

“And where exactly are we going?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions again.” Rose shoots her a sly smile to tell her she’s joking. “There’s a clearing about half a mile that way.” She points to the northwest. “It’s where we’ll turn tonight. There’s plenty of room for you to move around, and…well, no one’s going to hear you scream.”

River’s eyes blow wide. “Okay. That’s probably the least comforting thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

“I’m not here to comfort you. I’m here to help you get through this without losing your mind.” Rose gestures widely across the bayou. “While we’re wolves, I’ll help you stay on track. You don’t learn to have control of your wolf form for a while, so you’ll basically be like a giant, angry, coked-out golden retriever. I’ll keep you from getting lost, and by the end of the night, we should end up right around Mary’s cabin again.”

“Cool.” They walk for a little while longer in silence, their journey scored by the high-pitched cheeps of waterthrushes. After a while, River says, “You know, it might not mean much, but I know Hayley. She did what she did to help her family.”

“Yeah,” Rose breathes. “Problem is, once upon a time, we were her family, too.”

 

* * *

 

Marcel makes his way through the tunnels, hoping that Vincent has managed to pry some more information out of Theo. When he enters the cavern, he freezes in the mouth of the tunnel, wide-eyed as he takes in Vincent’s prostrate form. His eyes flick up to see Theo’s chains hanging loose from their hook in the wall. “Shit,” he breathes.

He hears a groan, and watches as Vincent starts to stir. In a flash, Marcel is kneeling by Vincent’s side, gingerly picking his head up off the ground. “What the hell happened?”

Vincent blinks wearily, regaining his bearings. “They rescued her. The witches.”

Marcel takes a deep breath. “Alright, I gotta warn Klaus, in case they come for Hope again.”

He reaches for his phone, but Vincent grabs his fist. “Tonight,” he rasps.

“What’s tonight?”

“The ritual.” Vincent pushes himself painfully onto one arm. “They’re going to reconnect with the ancestors tonight.”

 

* * *

 

Hope stands in the middle of the courtyard, staring up in wonder at the new façade of the compound. “Uncle Elijah, this is impressive.”

Elijah slides a hand into his pocket and smiles. “Well, it’s a testament to what a fortune and the teensiest bit of compulsion can get done on such short notice.”

“This wasn’t just Elijah’s doing,” Rebekah pouts from the balcony above. “I helped too, you know.”

“My darling Rebekah, you drank through three bottles of Bordeaux and told the workers off for being lazy.”

“They were sitting around doing nothing!”

“They were on their lunch break!”

Hope laughs, and then waves as she sees her father walk in from the kitchen, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Hey Dad! Looks good, doesn’t it?”

He smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hope, can I speak with you for a moment?”

Elijah’s eyes narrow as he looks at his brother, but Klaus ignores him. “Um, sure.” Hope follows as Klaus makes his way up the stairs toward Hope’s recently renovated bedroom. He pushes open the door, revealing the new, intricately carved oak furniture and the fresh royal blue paint on the walls. He gestures for her to enter, so she does. “So, what do you want to talk about?” She turns to look at her father, but he’s still standing in the hallway. “Dad?”

She hears a voice from around the corner—Freya. “Dad, what the—” She tries to leave the room but bounces off of an invisible wall. “What the hell?”

Freya comes into view, her hand raised as she finishes her spell. There’s a small, clay figurine in her other hand. “I’m sorry, Hope.”

Wild-eyed, the girl stares slack-jawed between the two of them. She bangs her fist off of the boundary spell. “What are you doing? Let me out!”

Klaus’s own eyes widen as he says, “I can’t. You must stay in there for your own protection.”

“Protection? From _what_?”

“The Harvest is happening,” Freya explains, sparing her brother, who is clearly distressed. “We want to make sure that they cannot use you for the sacrifice, if that is their plan.”

“I can take care of my _self_ ,” Hope snarls. “Let me _out_.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Klaus can say, and he disappears, leaving his daughter with Freya.

“Aunt Freya,” Hope begs, “please don’t leave me in here.”

“It’s just until morning,” her aunt promises. “I’ll make sure you’re out in time to go to River.” She lifts the figurine to show it to Hope. “The boundary spell on your door is linked to this. You won’t be able to undo it without breaking the clay.” She smiles softly. “Try to get some rest.” And then she walks away, too.

Hope lets out a frustrated groan, slamming her door shut. She paces around her bedroom, fists clenching and unclenching. “I can’t believe this,” she hisses. “I can _not_ believe this.”

She storms out onto her balcony, hoping the cool night air will help her clear her head. She stares down at the street below, at the partygoers just starting their revelry. She breathes in deep, letting the air go in a huff. As her fingers grip the iron railing, a thought pops into her mind. _The boundary spell on your door is linked to this_.

The door. _If the spell is only on the door, that means…_

Hope slowly extends her hand over the rail of the balcony. She meets no resistance. She huffs out a little laugh of relief and then surveys the ground below. It’s only a one-story drop to the concrete, but her bedroom sits right above the kitchen, and if anyone is in there, they’ll surely see her through the window.

She rushes back to the door and creaks it open. Listening carefully, she can hear the voices of at least Elijah and Freya from the courtyard below, and she’s fairly certain that’s her mother and father in the library on the opposite side of the compound. She closes her door and returns to the balcony. Betting on Rebekah being somewhere else than the kitchen, Hope squeezes her eyes shut and hurls herself over the balcony rail, landing with a hard _thud_ on the ground below.

Her left knee sings in pain, but she’s alive. She suppresses her chuckle of surprise that she didn’t manage to kill herself and silently slinks off into the night, her family none the wiser.

 

* * *

 

The full moon is well on its arc through the inky black sky, its silver face pockmarked and storied. It casts a bluish glow over the city of New Orleans, which glitters in the dark. In the City of the Dead, the darkness is warmed by hundreds of candles, spilling over every horizontal surface and littering the ground. Dozens of witches from every coven, all those seeking to reconnect to their ancestors, gather around a dais, where nine teenage girls, one from each coven, stand. Their white dresses billow in the light breeze as the girls silently await their fate.

Theo steps up onto the dais in front of them, a long, ceremonial blade in her hand. She stands before her witches, back to the line of Harvest girls. In a loud, commanding voice, she proclaims, “This Harvest shall be different than all others that have come before it. The Harvest is intended to renew our ties to our hallowed ancestors as they weaken over time. But we, the witches of New Orleans, find ourselves not with a weakened connection, but with one severed completely, leaving us with barely enough magic to survive. Therefore, we complete this Harvest, with one sacrifice from each coven, to beseech the ancestors to return to us, and grant us their power once more.”

Theo turns and approaches the first girl in line. She’s short and skinny with curly dark hair, and she straightens her back as Theo draws near. “To be born, you must sacrifice,” Theo says to her. “Do you have faith?”

“I do,” the girl answers.

And then, easily as taking her next breath, Theo slashes the ceremonial blade across the girl’s throat.

At that same moment, somewhere, deep in the wilderness of the Louisiana bayou, another young girl collapses to the ground as the bones in her leg crack in two. She howls in pain, her eyes, once dark brown but now gold flecked with black, wild and searching as she begins her transformation into a beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The eleventh episode, "There's Something Inside You," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	11. Episode Eleven: There's Something Inside You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uploading this a little earlier than usual because I'm anticipating power outages due to Hurricane Irma. Everyone stay safe out there.
> 
> This episode contains a musical cue. When you come upon a hyperlinked phrase, please click the link to be taken to a YouTube video that will play a song chosen to accompany that scene.

“To be born, you must sacrifice. Do you have faith?”

“I do.”

Candlelight glints off of the metal of Theo’s blade as she slits the third Harvest girl’s throat. Those still in line flinch visibly, but the onlookers in the crowd remain stoic. About a hundred feet away, cloaked in shadows, Hope Mikaelson presses herself against the brick of a mausoleum, keeping herself far out of sight. She has a hand clapped over her mouth, eyes wide as she watches girls her own age be slaughtered, falling to the ground like leaves from a tree. A slow, warm wind rustles through the cemetery, the flames of the candles dancing and casting terrifying shadows on the walls.

Theo strikes down the fourth girl, and Hope ducks fully behind the mausoleum, unable to watch further. She snuck out of the compound to try and stop this ritual, but now that she’s here, she’s at a complete loss for what to do next. She could easily overpower the witches gathered, at least long enough for the remaining girls to escape, but the ritual has already begun, and Hope has no clue what will happen if she interrupts it.

She pokes her head back out to observe the Harvest. The tiniest sob breaks free from her lips as she watches the fifth girl collapse, crimson blood staining her white dress in the most macabre image Hope has ever seen. Still, she can’t take her eyes away as Theo continues her quest to irrevocably change the city of New Orleans forever.

 

* * *

 

River’s curled in on herself, a ball of pain and torture. She shrieks as the fingers in her hand snap, her breath coming so fast it’s a wonder she doesn’t just vomit.

The moon is close to its apex as Rose, about five yards away, shouts, “Fight the pain! You can do this!”

“I can’t!” River sobs. “It’s too much!”

“You can d— _gah_!” Rose flips onto her back, her spine arching as inch-long claws rip through her fingertips. Rose has been turning for years now, so she’ll be a wolf long before River is. “You can make it, River,” she pants. “I believe in you.”

A deep, mournful howl echoes in River’s chest as her legs contort into unnatural angles. She grits her teeth so hard she worries they’ll crack. A thick, short layer of fur starts to spread up River’s arms, and despite the pain, her eyes widen in shock. “Oh god.”

There’s a snarling, snapping sound from the side, and River looks up to see a wolf, long, lanky, and deep brown in color, where Rose had been just moments before. “Oh god,” she says again.

The wolf lopes up to the mess of limbs that River has become and nudges her with its snout. River looks into the wolf’s eyes and sees Rose staring back at her with encouragement.

“I can do this,” River breathes, and the moon climbs ever higher.

 

* * *

 

Elijah’s sitting in a lounge chair in the courtyard, a glass of scotch in hand. He shoots his brother a glare every minute or so. Klaus, leaning up against the exposed brick of the wall, narrows his eyes in return. “Do you have something to say, Elijah?”

With a cavalier shrug, Elijah says, “Nothing in particular. Mostly I’m just regretting that I failed to place a bet on how long you could go on being Hope’s father before you locked her away from the world.”

Klaus huffs. “I do not enjoy treating my own child like—”

“A prisoner?”

Klaus’s face darkens. “I am trying to _protect_ her.”

Dropping the glass onto the small table beside him, Elijah stands up and slides his hands into his pockets. “Once again, Niklaus, you fail to see the difference between protection and tyranny.”

“Well when she’s alive at the end of the night, you can explain that difference to me.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but…” The brothers turn to see Marcel and Vincent striding toward them from the entryway. Marcel has a fake smile plastered on his face. “We need your help.”

“Our help?” Klaus wags a finger between the two men. “This Harvest is a witch problem. I suggest you get your witch to figure it out.”

“Well I was actually hoping to borrow _your_ witch,” Vincent says. “Could use all the help I could get.”

“And quickly,” Marcel adds. “We don’t know when they’re planning to start.”

“Absolutely not.” Klaus points up at his daughter’s bedroom. “Hope is not leaving this compound, and she is certainly not walking into whatever hell the witches have cooked up in the City of the Dead.”

Vincent opens his mouth to argue, but Marcel interjects, “You’re right. It’s not safe for Hope. So instead, I want you two to come help me. Serve as a distraction. Anything that allows me to get those Harvest girls out of there.”

“Why should I?” Klaus asks aggressively.

“Niklaus.” Elijah stands in front of his brother, presses a hand to Klaus’s chest. “Two of the leaders of this city have come to you for help. If you are sincere in your desire to make this place a safe home for your daughter, I suggest you consider wisely your choices in this moment.”

Klaus stares at Elijah, his jaw clenched tightly. Then, after a long pause, he says, “Fine.” He steps around his brother to address Vincent and Marcel. “We will come with you. Rebekah too. Freya and Hayley will stay here with Hope.”

Marcel claps his hands. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Seven of the nine Harvest girls are dead, their bodies a grotesque sight upon the dais. Hope can feel vomit clawing its way up her throat, but, desperate to stay silent and out of the way, she keeps her mouth shut. Her brain is still spinning as she tries to figure out a way to stop the madness, but she doesn’t know this magic, doesn’t know how to help without causing even more harm.

She stares in horror as Theo’s knife is raised once more, but the sound of footsteps coming from behind diverts her attention. She dives further behind the mausoleum, ducking out of the way just in time to be missed by a young woman running through the cemetery. “Theo!”

Once the woman is passed, Hope creeps up to poke her head out again. She sees Theo lower her blade. “Not now, Annelise. The Harvest is almost complete.”

The woman approaches the dais, out of breath. “Vincent and Marcel have come to stop us, and they’re not alone.”

“The Mikaelsons?” Annelise nods, and Hope’s stomach sinks to the ground. “Take a small group and head them off.” She returns her gaze to the shaking Harvest girl in front of her. “It shouldn’t be much longer now.”

Hope retreats into the shadows once more as a small contingent from the crowd peels off, following Annelise away from the Harvest. Hope starts to panic; her family is here. She doesn’t know how she’s going to return to the compound without them knowing she ever left in the first place, and worse, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to help them against these murderous witches if they need her. She wants to go to them, but there is something inside her, a tiny kernel willing her to stay and bear witness to this ritual. And so she does, peering out once again as Theo slashes the eighth girl’s throat.

 

* * *

 

Marcel, Vincent, Klaus, Elijah, and Rebekah form a half-circle at the entrance to Lafayette Cemetery. Marcel makes a gesture for the others to follow him, and he charges through the gate—only to be repelled by a boundary spell. “What—”

The sound of voices chanting in unison is heard from a distance, growing louder and louder until the five see a small group of witches standing before them, hands outstretched. Wind whips around all of them as the chanting becomes even louder.

“What are you doing?” Vincent shouts. “Stop this!”

The vampires find it difficult to move, whatever spell the witches are casting keeping them nearly frozen in place. Vincent extends his own hand and begins a spell to break theirs down, but his power has little effect.

“Vincent, do something,” Marcel snaps, fighting against the force of the spell.

Rolling his eyes, Klaus manages to bend down, inch by inch, and pick a rock up from the ground. Slowly, he cocks his arm back, and then the rock is flying. It strikes a dark blond witch in the head, sending him sprawling backward. Just like that, the force keeping the vampires in place weakens ever-so-slightly.

“You can’t stop us, Vincent!” Annelise yells, glancing worriedly at her fallen comrade. “The Harvest has already begun! Soon we will be reunited with our ancestors.”

“Soon _you_ will be,” Rebekah snarks, snatching a rock of her own from the ground and pelting it at Annelise’s head. The girl goes flying, and the spell weakens further.

Marcel fights his way closer to the gate. “C’mon! Let’s end this!”

“ _I_ will end this.” Dominic appears just inside the cemetery, at the very edge of the gate. He flicks his wrist, and all four vampires collapse, necks broken. Vincent stares back at him as the wind dies down, the witches’ spell along with it. “You are a disgrace,” Dominic spits at his regent.

“And if this Harvest doesn’t work, y’all are murderers.”

The Versailles witch shrugs unsympathetically. “This is the risk we chose to take.”

“The risk _y’all_ chose to take!” Vincent jabs his hand toward Dominic. “ _You_ are doing this to our community! If this works, we will be slaves to the ancestors once more, and if it doesn’t, _nine_ teenage girls are dead. This is what y’all have done to us.”

“You never did have faith, Vincent.” Dominic spins on his heel and stalks into the depths of the cemetery, motioning for the others to follow him. Vincent stares at his retreating back, shaking his head in despair.

 

* * *

 

[River’s back arches](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQKUIhhLlSQ) high toward the sky. Her limbs are now covered in a thick layer of jet black fur, and her eyes glow bright gold in the dark. An excruciating ripping in her gums makes her yelp, but the sound becomes muffled by the growing fangs. A few more broken bones, a rash of fur up her face, and River is gone.

In her place, curled into a ball, is a wolf, dark as midnight. It stands, slowly, each paw unsure on the soft earth. There’s movement in the corner of its eye, and its big head whips around, jaw snapping.

It’s answered with a low growl, and the wolf that is also Rose bares its teeth. Instinctively, the wolf that is also River lowers its belly to the ground, ears flattening in a silent _sorry, sorry._ The tongue of the Rose-wolf licks at its own snout, and the River-wolf sniffs. There’s something in the air, gamey and small. Rabbit.

The wolf that is also River is off, tearing through the bayou, as silent as death. It can hear the crunch of twigs and branches behind it—the Rose-wolf is hot behind—but it’s focused, tracing the scent of the fast-hearted rabbit as it bounds through the trees. The River-wolf stops only to bury its snout in a hole; the rabbit has disappeared, though the wolf can still smell its fear.

The Rose-wolf approaches with a loping gate, nudging the other wolf away from the rabbit hole. The wolf that is also River leaps away, mouth hanging in an open pant. It swats at the other wolf playfully, ducking low when the other wolf responds with a warning snarl. The River-wolf yips and darts away, and the Rose-wolf, before it can stop itself, takes off after it. The two chase each other through the damp, hot bayou of Louisiana, the bright glow of the moon gleaming off of their fur.

 

* * *

 

“I do.” The final Harvest girl gasps as the blade slices cleanly across her throat, her knees buckling as she falls down dead. Hope’s head is spinning.

Theo turns so her back is facing her victims. “After the Harvest comes the Reaping, their sacrifices made and accepted. Before our Chosen Ones are returned to us, I make a final sacrifice.” Theo raises her blade, now dark and blunt with nine girls’ blood, and slashes down across the palm of her left hand. “I sacrifice my blood to the Ancestors of New Orleans, and plead with them that they might bind themselves to their most faithful, most judicious descendant, that she might serve as their Advocate among the living. Now, we call upon our Elders to resurrect their Chosen Ones.”

A hush falls over the gathered. All eyes, including Hope’s, are focused on the line of bodies on the dais. Theo chews her lip nervously. “Come on,” she breathes. “Come on, come on.”

After several long minutes, a sob rings out from the crowd, and a low, worried murmur hisses through the air. Hope’s eyes are brimming with tears; those girls are dead, gone for good. She’s holding herself up against the mausoleum, close to falling to her knees, when nine simultaneous gasps echo through the cemetery.

The Harvest girls are awake.

The murmur becomes pandemonium as the parents of the Harvest girls scramble up onto the dais, and the rest of the witches react to a feeling coursing through their bodies. Hope feels it too, that slow, simmering tingle that’s passing through her as if it were a ghost. Her heart pounds in her chest as she feels the connection to the ancestors stitched back together. Hope lets out a breathless laugh, the only reaction she can think of to the sudden influx of power she’s feeling.

But then there’s something else. A ringing in her ears that becomes more and more unbearable by the second. Hope’s hands fly to the sides of her head and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to will the pain away. A whimper escapes her, and she falls back against the mausoleum, head swimming with pain. Despite the all-consuming ache that threatens to overtake her senses completely, Hope remembers that she can’t be caught here, and so, fighting the agony shaking her skull, she skulks away from the celebrating witches of New Orleans.

 

* * *

 

With a low groan, Rebekah stirs. Her hand rubs at her neck as she pushes herself upright. “Bloody hell.” She looks over to see Elijah coming to as well. “What happened?”

Vincent’s sitting with his back to the outer wall of the cemetery, his arms propped up on his knees. He’s staring out at nothing, not even sparing the waking vampires a glance. “It’s done.”

Klaus hauls himself to his feet, and then reaches out a hand to help Marcel to his. “What do you mean it’s done?”

“The Harvest.” Vincent’s voice is neutral, toneless. “They’ve completed it. I felt the connection to the ancestors reestablish itself.”

“Well at least those girls aren’t dead,” Rebekah says hopefully as Elijah helps her up. “That’s not nothing.”

“Yeah.” The regent doesn’t sound convinced. “Yeah, least those girls aren’t dead.”

From a distance, they can hear the cheers of the witches who gathered to complete the ritual. They all stand in silence, listening as the power in New Orleans shifts dramatically before their eyes.

 

* * *

 

It takes some skilled maneuvering, but Hope manages to use a trash can to help her reach the bottom of the balcony just outside her window. Then she hangs there for a moment, muttering, “Why didn’t I work out with River when I had the chance?” before doing the first and hopefully last pull-up in her life so that she can claw desperately at the top of the rail. She hurls herself over the wrought iron, falling onto the balcony with a pathetic _thud_ , and lays there, panting. “Never again,” she promises herself.

She doesn’t stay down long; she is just throwing herself onto her bed when she hears footsteps approaching from the hall. She whips her phone out of her pocket and opens the first app she sees— _Plants vs. Zombies 5_ —and starts tapping at her screen just as the door opens. Her mother’s head pokes in. “Hey.”

Hope shoots her a glare over the top of her phone. “Come to check on the prisoner, warden?”

Hayley sighs, letting the door swing open. She leans against the jamb. “You’re not a prisoner.”

“Really? Because the inability to leave this room suggests otherwise.”

“Look I’m not too happy with your father’s…unilateral decision to keep you in here, but he was right to worry that the witches might want to use you in their Harvest.”

“Whatever. As long as I’m trapped in here, I think I’ll remain pissed off.”

With a half-smile, Hayley pulls something out of her back pocket. It’s the head of the clay figurine to which Freya had bound the spell. “That’s what I came up to tell you. Your father called. The Harvest is over. You are free to go.”

Hope clicks her phone off and sits up. “Thank you.” She pushes herself off her bed. “I’m going to take a shower and then come down and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

She heads for her bathroom, but stops when her mom says, “Hang on.” She turns back to look at Hayley, confused. Hayley’s scrutinizing her, eyes narrow. “Something about you looks…different. Are you okay?”

Hope blanches, but she says quickly, “The Harvest. If it was successful, then I guess that means I’m connected to the ancestors, too.”

Hayley doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but she says, “Alright.” She starts to retreat into the hallway. “Well, hurry up. I think I’m going to order a late night pizza.”

“That’s the best kind.”

Hayley smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She closes the door behind her, still suspicious of something she can’t quite put her finger on. Hope lets out a low breath of relief; she can’t believe she got away with both sneaking out and lying about it. She turns again to go into her bathroom, and as she enters, something catches her attention in the corner of her eye. Her head whips around to look into the mirror, where she sees herself, a little worse for the wear, and, more surprisingly, with blood dripping from her nose.

 

* * *

 

There’s a small gathering in and around the LeRoy crypt, a collage of faces pressing in, ears searching to hear. There is only enough room for a few to stand inside, looking at Theo as she sits cross-legged on the floor.

“Anything?” Leanne asks, somewhat impatiently.

Annelise elbows her, a bruise sprawling across her forehead despite the large bandage covering her wound. “Wait!”

Theo’s eyelids are closed, though the movement of the eyes themselves is visible as she searches the darkness for something, anything, any indication of the ancestors.

The connection thrums inside her chest—that she can feel. The kernel of magical energy that had lived inside her for the past fifteen years is now a big ball, a deep well that she finally has access to once again. But there is no trace of the source of that power, no voices, no presence within her. She searches herself, digging far within the recesses of her mind, but she only finds Theo.

After a long while, Theo’s eyes slide open. She stares at nothing. “They’re not there.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd outside, and Leanne and Annelise exchange a look. “What do you mean they’re not there?” the former asks.

Theo takes a deep breath, and then shouts, “THEY’RE NOT THERE!” With the force of her words, every candle in the cemetery blows out at once. She leaps to her feet, seething. “I can’t feel a bond to them. I can’t hear them, can’t sense them.” She tips her work table over, sending papers and trinkets flying. “It didn’t work. The Rite of Advocacy. It didn’t work.”

 

* * *

 

_Listen to us._

_Tell Angelique about the secret key._

_Eradicate the demons from our home._

_There’s no time to waste._

_Listen to us._

_Fifteen years…fifteen years…_

_We_ chose _you._

_Listen to us._

_Listen to us._

_LISTEN TO US._

Hope jerks awake, her breath coming is desperate gasps. Her head is pounding, a steady throbbing that makes stars dance behind her eyes. She grips the sides of her head, hoping the pain goes away.

That nightmare…but it wasn’t a nightmare. It was voices, hundreds of them, thousands, all talking at once. She couldn’t see any faces, nothing visual in the blackness to alleviate the intense sound of voices, voices, voices. She swings her legs onto the cool floor, stepping quietly onto the moonlit balcony. She takes a few deep breaths to compose herself. The pounding in her head softens, but doesn’t disappear.

_What is this?_ she thinks, staring up at the moon, fully on its descent in the sky. Fear of this unknown ailment grips her heart, but she shakes her head. _This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous._ She returns to her bed, laying atop the covers, far too hot to climb underneath. Her eyes slid shut, but she doesn’t fall asleep again for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

When River awakens, the first thing she realizes is that she’s naked. She sits up quickly, clutching the thick blanket someone had draped over her more tightly to her body. The sky is just starting to pink, the sun not yet above the horizon. She’s on the hard wooden porch of Mary’s cabin, still groggy from the night before.

She hears a creak from behind her, and twists around to see Rose, fully-dressed, walking up, a half-smirk on her face. “Rough night?”

River laughs, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “Something like that.” She takes the hand Rose offers to pull herself to her feet. “Honestly, though? Not the worst night.”

Rose quirks an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.” River sits on Mary’s porch swing. “I mean, that pain…that pain was the worst I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve had some terrible periods, but…being a wolf…”

“You were a natural.” River looks up at Rose, surprised. “I’ve never seen anyone take to it that quickly.”

“Um. Thanks.” River’s ears color in embarrassment.

“You got any clothes?”

“Oh.” She looks down at herself. “I didn’t think I’d be awake so early. Hope’s coming to bring them to me.”

Rose nods. “Well, Mary’s still asleep, so…” She settles onto the porch swing, rocking it slightly. “I guess I’ll wait with you.”

River smiles slowly. “Cool.” The two wolves stare out over the bayou, watching the first rays of morning spill over the horizon.

 

* * *

 

Hope pads quietly through the open doors of St. Anne’s Church. She only has a short while before her mother is going to drive her out to the bayou to get River, but she can’t wait. She steps past the stoup of holy water and see Vincent, straightening up the altar. She clears her throat awkwardly; it echoes up to the rafters. “Hey.”

Vincent shoots her a glance over his shoulder, and then returns to his work. “Hey.”

Hope continues forward, wringing her hands. “So, um. What exactly happened last night?”

With a snort, Vincent says, “You didn’t feel it?”

“Feel it?”

He finally turns to look at her, resting back against the altar. “The ancestors. The Harvest was successful. We’re connected again.”

“Oh. Yeah, no, I felt that.” She gives him a small, sympathetic smile. “I guess you’re not too happy.”

“No, I’m not. ‘Specially since Theo’s grand plan turned out to be a bust.”

That piques Hope’s interest. “What do you mean?”

Vincent sighs. “Theo thought she could tack something onto the end of the Harvest, a rite to bind the connection to one person, so the ancestors wouldn’t have control over all of us like they did before. They’d only have access to this person, this—this Advocate.” He scoffs and turns his back to Hope once more. “But word’s spreadin’ fast. Theo’s been fumin’ all night and all morning. She can’t feel the ancestors any more than the rest of us. There is no Advocate.” He leans heavily on the altar, head bowed. “We’re screwed. I could’ve told her it wouldn’t work—”

“It did.”

“—but she didn’t _come_ to me, decided to make this whole mess on her own—”

“It did work.”

Vincent stops his tirade to look back at Hope, who looks tiny at the far end of the nave. “What’re you talking about?”

It all makes sense. The dream. The voices. The excruciating pain right after the Harvest was completed. The nosebleed. Hope stares a thousand miles away as all of the pieces click into place. “Vincent, the rite did work, but not for Theo.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s me.” She meets his eyes, watches shock dawn across his face. “I’m the Advocate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The twelfth episode, "I Might Seem So Strong," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	12. Episode Twelve: I Might Seem So Strong

Vincent and Hope sit side-by-side in the third pew from the front, the church yawning wide around them. Hope’s eyes are trained on the statue of the Virgin Mary at the back of the altar. Hope’s never been overly religious, but at this particular moment, she feels an odd sort of kinship to the woman who got more than she ever bargained for.

It’s been a while since either of them have spoken. Vincent’s taken some time to process the story that Hope just relayed to him. He places his palms on his thighs and stretches his fingers out. “Who knows?” His voice is quiet, but the echo in the empty church is still jarring.

“No one.” Who the hell would she tell?

“Alright. Alright, it’s gonna stay that way.”

Hope’s head snaps to stare at Vincent. “What do you mean? Shouldn’t—I mean, my parents—”

Vincent lets out a low hum of disapproval. “Your daddy can _not_ find out about this until we are sure we know what’s goin’ on.”

“Why?”

Side-eying her, the regent says, “Because he’d burn this place to the ground.”

Hope opens her mouth to argue, but then closes it again. He’s not wrong. So instead she says, “Well what _are_ we going to do? Because I can’t be the…the…”

“The Advocate.”

She doesn’t even want to say it. “Right. See, I can’t do that. I have enough family members to deal with without tacking on generations of dead witches.”

“See it don’t work like that.”

“How do you _know_ that?” Hope stands up and begins pacing between the pews. “How do you know I couldn’t just…I don’t know, give this power or ability or whatever to someone else? To Theo? She seems to want it!”

“No, no, Theo could not be trusted with this. And besides, _you_ told me what happened.”

Hope stops pacing. “What?”

“You told me that Theo asked the ancestors to _bind themselves to their most faithful, most judicious descendant._ Sure, she might have meant herself, but if they chose you, they chose you. Ain’t much we can do about that.”

Hope swallows thickly. She just stares at Vincent, face pale. After a minute, she whispers, “I have to go get River.” She turns and makes a beeline for the exit.

“Now hang on!” Vincent shoots to his feet to stop her, but Hope whips around. “No! No, I can’t deal with this today.”

“You have to deal with this today. Theo LeRoy is on a warpath.”

“My girlfriend needs me,” Hope snarls. “And I need…I need…” She takes a deep breath. “I need to not be here.” She storms toward the doors once more, and this time, Vincent doesn’t try to stop her.

 

* * *

 

Hayley and Hope trek through the bayou, each with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Hayley notices Hope’s uncharacteristic silence, and asks, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

Hayley’s not convinced. “Do you feel…different?”

Hope looks up at her mother, wide-eyed. “Why would I feel different?”

With a shrug, Hayley says, “I’m no witch, but I would imagine that suddenly being connected to a city’s worth of ancestral magic would make a girl feel more powerful than usual.”

“Oh. Yeah, no, I more or less feel the same.” Honestly, Hope hasn’t even had time to consider what this new connection might mean for her beyond the fact that she is now its lynchpin.

“Then why so quiet?”

Hope hates this. She tells her mother _everything_ ; after fifteen years of mostly just each other for companionship, the mother and daughter are extremely close, and Hayley has always been a reliable sounding board for Hope’s troubles. But Hope trusts Vincent, and if he thinks it’s best for her to keep the fact that she is the Advocate a secret for the time being, she will.

So she lies. “Just looking forward to seeing River.”

And sure enough, Mary’s cabin is appearing through the trees, the wood soft in the glow of early morning. The two step up onto the front porch, but they don’t even get the chance to knock before the door is being yanked open. “I’ve been naked for an _hour_ ,” River says unceremoniously, wrapped tightly in a plaid blanket.

Hope cocks a half-smile. “Maybe I was late on purpose.”

Hayley rolls her eyes as River grabs the duffel bag from her girlfriend and retreats into the house. She and Hope follow her in. “How was your night?”

“Um.” River closes herself in the bathroom to dress, but says through the door, “Actually, not the worst?”

Surprised, Hayley and Hope exchange a look. “Really?” Hope calls.

“Really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the transition was so painful I wanted to peel off all of my skin, but…” She reemerges, dressed in jeans and a tank top, her feet still bare. “Being a wolf?” She searches for the words.

“There’s nothing like it,” Hayley offers, and River nods.

The front door opens, and Mary and Rose enter, each carrying a massive pail of water. Mary nods her hellos to the newcomers, and then says, “Damn water thing’s busted again, so we gotta use the well for a while.”

River sniffs the air. “Is that food?”

Hayley drops her duffel bag onto the floor, and River kneels to unzip it. “Bagels, oranges, bacon—probably cold by now—hard-boiled eggs, muffins, and, of course—”

“Beignets,” Hope finishes.

River looks up, two strips of bacon already crammed into her mouth. “Ah luff ya,” she says.

Hayley laughs, and then turns in surprise when she feels a tap on her shoulder. She sees Rose, face severe, jerk her head toward the open door. “We need to talk.” Hayley’s eyebrows fly up, but she nods and follows the alpha outside.

Hope helps River move all of the food onto the rickety kitchen table as Mary heads back outside to fill her water tank. As they sit, Hope asks, “So what was it like?”

River swallows her huge bite of beignets. “It was…it made sense.”

“Okay…?”

“Like…being a wolf made sense. The part where my body was literally tearing itself to pieces to _become_ the wolf, that made no sense, but once I was in that body…the smells, the sounds…the feeling of the wind in my fur as I ran…it was like my whole life was leading up to that moment.”

Hope squeezes River’s hand atop the table. “I’m glad it was better than you thought it would be. It sounds awesome.” Her eyes fall down to the table.

River senses a shift in mood, and puts down the muffin she had just reached for. “Is everything okay?”

Hope hears Mary’s heavy footfalls on the porch, and shakes her head. “Later?”

River’s eyebrows furrow, but she nods as Mary reenters the cabin, cursing under her breath about the plumbing.

 

* * *

 

Marcel strides into the empty church, tapping on his phone as he says, “Alright, what the hell was so important you had to pull me out of a meeting with the mayor?”

Vincent’s waiting for him on the altar. “You alone?”

Sliding his phone into his pocket, Marcel gives Vincent a look somewhere between confused and offended. “Yeah, of course I’m alone. You ask me to come alone, I come alone. Now what is this about? Shouldn’t you be keepin’ your witches from starting yet another civil war in my city?”

Vincent decides to let _my city_ go. “So you know about Theo.”

“Know that she tried to make herself the grand pupa of the ancestors and failed? Yeah, I know.” He stands before the regent, hands on his hips, chin in the air. “So what?”

“Theo may have failed to make herself the ancestors’ Advocate, but that doesn’t mean the spell itself failed.”

“Look, Vincent, I don’t got time to—”

“It’s Hope Mikaelson.” Marcel is deadly silent. “Hope Mikaelson is now the Advocate for the ancestors of New Orleans.”

Marcel runs a hand over his face. “This isn’t funny.”

“No.” Vincent steps down off the altar to stand right in front of Marcel. “This is the best damn news we’ve gotten in years.”

Marcel looks at the regent like he’s crazy. “You think this is good news? Klaus Mikaelson’s daughter now has exclusive access to the witches and you think we shouldn’t be runnin’ for this hills?”

“ _Think_ about it, Marcel,” Vincent hisses. “How many times have we tried to establish a real, lasting peace in this city, huh? One in which every community—witches, wolves, _and_ vampires—have been able to live their lives in peace, free to be who they are?” Marcel doesn’t answer. “Even since the fall of the Mikaelsons, we ain’t had a real peace. The witches weren’t strong enough to fight for themselves, and that’s what led Theo to do what she did.”

“What’s your point?”

“My _point_ is that the witches and the wolves were never gonna trust you to speak for them. And the wolves and vampires were never gonna trust me to speak for them, neither. And as many times as we’ve tried to create a—a—a council, a group representin’ everybody in the city, it’s never worked!

“But Hope.” Vincent’s face blooms into something bright and buoyant. “Hope might just be the key to savin’ this city once and for all.”

 

* * *

 

Outside of Mary’s cabin, behind the first row of trees, Rose rounds on Hayley, arms crossed. “I don’t like you.”

Hayley’s face betrays only mild surprise. “Okay.”

“I might’ve been a kid when you left fifteen years ago, but even then I understood that our alpha was abandoning us to go on some grand quest to save a couple of vampires who individually have lived longer than everyone in this pack combined.”

“Rose—”

“I’m not done,” Rose snaps. “For years we were leaderless. Jackson was dead, you took off god knows where, and the vampires decided to pick us off while we were at our weakest. After a while Marcel told them to back off. He played it like he was trying to honor you or something, but I knew. He just didn’t want the death of your pack to draw you back here.” She scoffs. “Not that I thought for a second it would.”

Hayley looks at the ground, tugs on the hem of her shirt. “Look, Rose, I know I didn’t do right by this pack—”

“So I stepped up.” Rose keeps talks like Hayley never opened her mouth. “I triggered the curse at nineteen, and when I was twenty-two I couldn’t stand by and watch my people fade away into nothingness. I’ve been alpha for three years now, and I may not know what I’m doing, but I do know what my next step is.”

Face drawn, Hayley asks, “And what’s that?”

“I need a meeting with Vincent Griffith and Marcel Gerard, and you’re going to set it up for me.” Not a question, not a request. A demand.

Hayley takes a deep breath. “Okay. And what would this meeting be about, exactly?”

Rose’s answering smile is sarcastic. “Well that’s alpha business, and you’re not the alpha anymore.”

It stings, but Hayley knows she deserves it. “And why should I ask them to meet with you? Seems to me like you don’t have much going for you out here.”

Rose narrows her eyes. “You’re going to do it because I spent last night keeping your daughter’s girlfriend from losing her goddamn mind. And because you _owe_ us.”

Hayley sighs deeply, then nods. “Okay. Okay.” She starts to walk back toward the house, and then stops, turns to face Rose again. “Why do you turn?”

Rose’s brows knit in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“The rest of the pack. They gained control of their turning during the ceremony with Jackson. But you…”

Rose works her jaw. “I was a kid, and I hadn’t triggered my curse, so I wasn’t invited to the wedding. Every Crescent born afterward would inherit that ability, but me…” She shrugs. “I got shafted.”

“Oh.” Hayley never considered the kids, never thought about those who hadn’t yet triggered their curses, but might, someday. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.” Rose nods to the cabin. “Get them back to the Quarter. And get me that meeting with Vincent and Marcel.” And with that, Rose stalks off into the woods.

 

* * *

 

When River and Hope enter the compound, their jaws immediately drop. An intricate web of streamers—gold, green, and purple—encompass the courtyard, where a small army of workers assembles a stage in one corner. Across the way, a long table is being put together, an endless tablecloth waiting to be draped over top. Colored balloons are tied to the balconies, and strings of lights weave between the wrought iron.

“What the _hell_?”

Elijah and Rebekah turn to grin at the girls, who can barely move for shock. “Welcome back!” Rebekah says cheerfully. She walks over to them and wraps an arm around River’s shoulder. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’m doing the weirdest acid trip in history. What is all this?”

“Ah.” Elijah sets a clipboard down on the impossibly long table and approaches. “These are…preparations. For the party.”

“The party,” Hope repeats, deadpan. “Wasn’t Mardi Gras, like, months ago?”

“It’s for you!” Rebekah chirps.

Hope’s eyes widen even further. “For me?”

“For your birthday!”

And that’s when Hope remembers: her eighteenth birthday is _tomorrow_. “Oh.”

Elijah tries to dampen his smile. “Did you forget?”

“Honestly…yeah. I mean, first there was rescuing Dad, and then waking all of you up, and then River getting kidnapped, and then last night…” She catches herself before she says too much, recalling Vincent’s warning. “It’s just been a lot. I haven’t had time to think about…”

“Being an adult?” Rebekah offers. Hope nods.

River points at all of the decorations. “That still doesn’t explain all this.”

“Yeah,” Hope says. “I mean, a party? For who? I have one friend, and I’m dating her.”

“The party is for New Orleans.” Everyone’s eyes turn to Klaus, who’s descending the staircase, gesturing grandly to the set-up. “All of the most important figures in this city will be invited to celebrate the anniversary of the birth of my child, as well as our triumphant return to New Orleans.”

Hope nods once, eyes falling to the floor. “Right. So this has nothing to do with _me_ , and everything to do with reminding everyone that the Mikaelsons are all-powerful harbingers of terror.”

Klaus gives a too-pleased grin. “Well, I suppose one could…” He trails off as his daughter stalks past him, avoiding his gaze. “Hope?” He looks at his siblings, bewildered.

River narrows her eyes in judgement. “ _Dude._ ” Shaking her head, she follows her girlfriend up to their shared room.

Elijah shifts to cross his arms and glare at his brother, who merely gives a baffled shrug.

 

* * *

 

After dropping the girls off at the compound, Hayley makes her way to St. Anne’s, where she’s lucky enough to find both Vincent and Marcel, heads tipped together conspiratorially. They look up quickly when they hear her footsteps. “What’re you doing here?” Marcel asks bluntly.

“Nice to see you too.” She finally reaches them and crosses her arms. “I need the two of you to meet with Rose Capitoline.”

The men exchange blank looks. “Who’s that?”

Hayley rolls her eyes. “She’s the new alpha of the Crescent pack.”

“Huh.” Marcel leans up against the wall of the sanctuary. “Didn’t realize they had a new alpha.”

“Shocking they didn’t consult with you first.”

“Well why does she want a meeting with us? Shouldn’t the Crescents hate the vampires, and the witches too?”

“Oh, they should, and they do,” Hayley says bitingly. “But I don’t know why she wants a meeting. I don’t care. You’re going to give it to her.”

Marcel works his jaw like he wants to argue, but Vincent says, “Actually…I think meeting with her is a good idea.” He gives Marcel a significant look, and Marcel slowly nods in agreement.

Hayley looks between the two of them with suspicion. “Do I want to know what’s going on here?”

Vincent gives her a bland smile. “Tell Rose we’d like to talk to her as soon as possible.”

Part of Hayley is worried that Rose is walking into something far more complicated than she could ever imagine, but right now she just wants to get back to Hope. “Whatever,” she says, spinning around, already pulling her phone out of her pocket as she exits the church.

 

* * *

 

When River enters their bedroom, Hope is leaning on the rail of the balcony, her hair falling down to obscure her face from view. The werewolf makes her way out, standing beside her girlfriend and looking down onto the street below. “I don’t really know what to say when your vampire dad says he’s going to use your birthday as an excuse to claim power in New Orleans. Maybe offer to make tea?”

Hope puffs out something akin to a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s just…I knew, who he was, what his priorities were. My mom tried her hardest not to…make him seem like a monster to me. And he didn’t. My whole life I thought of my dad as a martyr who sacrificed a life with me to save his siblings, and he was a hero to me.” She sighs. “I guess even heroes are people, too. Still, I should have known better than to expect too much from the man so terrible that he was the scary story regular vampires told each other over campfires.”

“I don’t think you were unreasonable to expect your dad not to be a dick,” River points out.

“I guess.” Hope tucks her hair behind one ear so she can see her girlfriend out of the corner of her eye. “It’s just, with everything going on…”

“Holy shit!” River grabs Hope’s arm and pulls her upright so they’re facing each other.

That’s when Hope feels it, the trickle of something hot and wet from her nose. She wicks the blood away with the back of her hand. “Sorry, sorry—”

“Don’t—oh my god.” River takes Hope’s face in her hands and stares her right in the eyes. “This has gone on long enough. Tell me what’s going on, now.”

Hope stares back for a long while, and then whispers. “Okay, but not here.” Her eyes flick down to the street. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

 

* * *

 

They meet in St. James Infirmary. It’s neutral ground for all of them, and Rose already feels ganged up on, even though she’s the one who called the meeting. Vincent and Marcel, for all their disagreements, are mostly allies, and they have no reason to listen to a word she says.

There’s a jazz band playing, and the bar is fairly crowded, so when Rose approaches the corner table where the witch regent and the vampire king are waiting for her, she’s not worried they’ll be overheard. They’re seated when she walks up, shoulders straight to display a sense of confidence she’s not sure she has. “I’m surprised you agreed to meet with me.”

Marcel motions for her to take a seat opposite them. “Actually, we were going to reach out to you.”

 _That’s…interesting_. Rose slowly lowers herself into the chair, suspicion coloring her face. “Why?”

“We wanted to talk to you about the future of New Orleans,” Vincent says, gaze steady.

“That’s a lucky coincidence. I’m here to talk about the wolves’ future in New Orleans. I am _done_ watching my people suffer in silence out in the bayou. We deserve access to medicine, to _culture_. Our children deserve to go to schools, real schools. We deserve to live our lives without fear that the vampires are going to slaughter us, or that the witches are going to put a curse on us again. We want back in the Quarter, and we want it _now_.”

Vincent and Marcel look at each other, the ghosts of smiles dancing at the corners of their mouths. Finally Marcel flags down a server and says to Rose, “Get yourself a drink. We have a lot to talk about.”

 

* * *

 

They’re walking down Chartres Street toward Jackson Square. Each restaurant they pass is blaring music as the midday lunch rush swirls around them. Hope keeps her hands in her pocket as she begins her story. “Because the bones of my grandmother were consecrated on New Orleans soil, I have an ancestral tie to the magic that fuels the witches who live here.” River nods, following along. “Fifteen years ago, that tie was severed. It was a much bigger deal for the witches who live here, because for them, the ancestors are their only source of magic. That’s not the case for me, so it wasn’t much of a problem.

“Last night, that ancestral tie was…fixed. All of us have access to that power again, but it’s…it’s different now.”

“Different how?”

Hope takes a deep breath, searching for the words. “The witch who did the spell, Theo—”

“The crazy bitch who kidnapped me in my sleep? I’m familiar.”

“Right. Well, she was worried that the ancestors, if we were connected to them again, would, I guess, be super controlling of the living witches. Apparently that was a big problem back in the day? I don’t know, I was like two.

“Anyway, she tried to make herself the sort-of gatekeeper for the ancestors. They’d only be able to express their opinions, concerns, whatever to her. They wouldn’t be able to control us.”

“Well, that sounds like a good thing,” River says. “What’s the issue?”

Hope stops walking, and River does the same. “It didn’t work.”

River stares at her blankly. “What do you mean?”

“Theo didn’t make herself the gatekeeper.” She pauses. “It’s me. I’m the Advocate for the ancestors.”

River’s eyes widen. “Okay, I’m still not one hundred percent sure what that means, but it sounds serious.”

For a second, Hope wants to walk away, to leave River far from the confusing mess that her life is devolving into. But she doesn’t think she could do any of this without River by her side, that snarky, comforting voice in her ear. So she explains, “It means I hear them. All the time. Hundreds, thousands of voices in my head, screaming at me, whispering to me. The ancestors of New Orleans have been silent for fifteen years, and now I’m the only person who can hear them.”

River grips Hope’s hand so hard Hope worries the bones might crack. “Jesus Christ, that sounds awful.”

“It’s—I don’t know. It’s a lot, and you can’t tell _anyone_.”

“Yeah, of course.” River’s face works through a dozen different emotions. “But is this what’s causing the nosebleeds? I thought those started before last night.”

“Oh.” Hope starts to walk again, River’s hand still squeezing hers. “It’s…related?” River merely waits for her to elaborate. “Okay, think of my magic like…like a river.” River smiles, and Hope rolls her eyes. “Like an actual river, a strong one, like the raging rapids that people raft down. It’s fast and strong and overwhelming. And my entire life, I’ve put this dam in the river. It’s kept my power at bay. Sure, I’ve been able to use it, mostly for small spells—opening locks, locator spells, turning off the lights when I don’t feel like getting out of bed. And each time I use that power, a tiny crack forms in the dam. Nothing I can’t handle. My power stays hidden, where it can’t hurt anybody.

“But since the night that Vincent came to Tallahassee to get me, I have been doing much bigger spells, and using a lot more magic. And those tiny cracks are now much, much bigger. It’s getting harder and harder for me to keep the power from swallowing me whole, and thus…”

“Nosebleeds,” River finishes, and Hope nods. “Shouldn’t you tell someone about this? What about Freya? She’s got to know how to help.”

“I know, I know, it’s just…” Hope worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t know what to do. And now that I have this ancestral magic on top of what I already had…it’s like the raging river is _flooding_.”

“Hope.” River pulls them to a stop again. “It’s not just you and your mom anymore. You have people in your life who can _help_ you, who _want_ to help you. You have to let them. Before this magic kills you.”

Hope nods. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But Vincent told me to keep this whole Advocate thing a secret and—”

“Screw Vincent.” River kisses Hope’s forehead, and Hope didn’t realize just how much she needed that. “You are more important than whatever he’s up to.”

Hope smiles softly. “Thanks for…I don’t know. Being you. Being epic.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty great.” She loops her arm through Hope’s and resumes their walk to Jackson Square. “Remember that when I tell you I forgot to get you a birthday present.”

 

* * *

 

It’s late in the day, and Theo LeRoy is alone in her crypt, seething. She’s mostly righted everything inside, and now she’s poring over every piece of paper she owns, trying to figure out exactly what went wrong.

“It should have worked,” she mutters to herself, fingers curled into fists atop her work table. “I did _everything_ right. It should have worked.”

“I think it did.”

Theo’s eyes flick up to see Dom leaning in the doorway. “I’m not in the mood.”

Ignoring her, Dom says, “I just had a very interesting conversation with all nine of our Harvest girls.”

Theo’s eyes are scanning the pages again. “So?”

“None of them can access the ancestors.”

That catches Theo’s attention. She straightens up. “What do you mean?”

“They’ve been trying to channel the ancestors all morning. Contorted themselves six ways to Sunday and still nothing.”

Theo leans back against the wall. “That _is_ interesting.”

“So what does it mean if not even the nine girls we sent to retrieve the ancestors can commune with them? Someone has to be talking to them. They’re not exactly a quiet group.”

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Theo’s face. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That there’s an Advocate running around the city somewhere and we have no idea who they are?”

Theo lets out a long, humorless laugh. “Oh, I am going to find them. Whoever they are, I will hunt them down and I will _take back_ what was stolen from me.” Her eyes snap to Dom, who’s looking at her with something akin to surprise. “Even if I have to kill them to do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The season finale, "Hope for a Life That is Calm," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	13. Episode Thirteen, Part One: Hope for a Life That is Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the late upload; it completely slipped my mind.

River’s perched on the marble-topped island in the kitchen, a bowl of Froot Loops in her hands. Her legs kick back and forth as Hope moves around her, assembling her own bowl of Cheerios. Crunching on the cereal, River says, “Ah dunno. Ah still fink tha ‘riginal _Buffy_ movie’s betta than tha remake.”

Hope glares at her over her shoulder. “You’re crazy.”

River jabs her spoon toward her girlfriend, ready to argue her case, when a voice calls out from the courtyard, “Guess who’s here!”

The girls shoot each other confused looks, and then abandon their breakfasts, entering the courtyard to see what’s going on. They look to the entrance, where Hayley stands, a grin on her face, and right beside her—

“Mom!” River tears off, throwing herself onto her mother, who squeezes back.

“Hey, baby!” Rachel says. “I missed you!”

“I missed you, too.”

“Hi, Mrs. Monroe,” Hope says, now standing beside her own mother.

“Hiya, Hope.” Rachel holds her daughter at arm’s length and looks her up and down. “Look at you. Turned yourself into a wolf but you’re still in one piece.”

“More or less,” River agrees. “But what are you doing here? Where’s Dad?”

Hayley slides an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “I invited her. For Hope’s party tonight.”

Both girls’ faces light up. “Really?”

Rachel nods. “Your daddy couldn’t make it. Something with work. But he sends his birthday wishes, Hope.”

“Thanks.”

Rachel’s eyes settle on River again, and this time, there’s a lot less joy there. “You know, you and I’re gonna have a talk about runnin’ away to chase girls across state lines.”

River stiffens; she’s in trouble. “About that—”

“How ‘bout we talk about it after you get home?”

 _Home._ River swallows thickly, avoiding Hope’s stare. “Actually, Mom…I don’t think I’m gonna be going home.” She can hear the breath leave Hope’s body, but can _not_ bring herself to look at her.

“And why the hell not?”

River slowly pulls her phone out of her pocket and gives it a jiggle. “I got the email last night. I’ve been accepted off the Tulane waitlist.”

“ _What?_ ” Hope throws her arms around River’s neck. “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you!”

River hugs her girlfriend back, but her eyes are locked on her mother’s face. There’s shock there, and pride, and something else she can’t quite identify.

But then her mother smiles, and kisses her forehead. “Congratulations, baby. I’m not surprised at all.” It’s a lie, but it feels nice.

Hayley, eager to diffuse the tension, suggests, “Why don’t you girls show River’s mom to her room? I think the one a few doors down from you should be finished.”

“Okay!” They lead the way up the stairs, Hope chattering a mile a minute about how close Tulane is to the compound as Rachel trails behind silently. Hayley leans back against a pillar and sighs. “This is gonna be a long day.”

 

* * *

 

The sounds of instruments warming up echoes through the still-empty halls of the compound, the party—the ball, really, with its fancy hors d’oeuvres and string quartet and tuxedo-clad waitstaff—still roughly an hour away from its start. Hayley stands in her new bedroom— _our bedroom_ , she continually reminds herself, now that she and Elijah are finally able to share their lives together—and examines herself in the mirror. She looks exactly the same as she did eighteen years ago, when on a church altar she brought into this world the most important person she’ll ever meet. Her dress is tightly fitted to her body, black with intricate cream lace detailing about the bodice and hem. She smooths the fabric and reaches back to pull the zipper up, but she can’t reach. She contorts her arm at awkward angles, but nothing works.

“Would you like some help?”

She looks into the mirror to see Elijah behind her, already buttoned up in his tuxedo, classically black and elegant. He’s leaning against the doorframe, head angled as his eyes roam up and down.

She smiles wryly at him through the mirror. “If you don’t mind.”

Slowly he approaches, his fingers catching the zipper at the small of her back and inching it upward. His knuckle grazes the curve of her spine as it moves up, and she rolls her eyes. “I’m starting to think this is a thing for you.”

“Whatever could you possibly be referring to?” he replies with a playful lilt to his tone. Once the dress is zipped, his arms slide comfortably around her waist, and he presses his face alongside hers. “I _do_ recall another dress. White, lots of buttons. Plenty of room for a bump.”

Hayley hums a laugh. “Can’t believe that bump is now an eighteen-year-old.”

“And yet her mother is just as radiant as the day she gave birth to her.”

“And her uncle’s just as big a flatterer.” That earns a laugh from Elijah. “I’m still not sure about tonight. Should we even be here? I don’t see this city getting any safer for us.”

Elijah takes her hand in his and spins her around so they’re no longer looking at each other through the mirror. “I…agree that it is odd that Marcel Gerard has yet to…force us out of New Orleans. And yet…” He gives a hopeful smile. “Perhaps your daughter has sweetened his somewhat sour opinion of our family.”

Hayley doesn’t look convinced. “The last time we were here, he tried to kill you and Kol, and he kept Klaus bricked in a wall for fifteen years.”

“Fair point.” He gently kisses her forehead. “Call me an idealist, but I truly believe that we can finally make this city the home for your daughter that you always hoped for.”

“Well, we’ve been here a matter of days and already her girlfriend’s been kidnapped and she’s been held prisoner by her father to keep her away from covens of angry witches, so, yeah…that sounds like the New Orleans I remember.” She sighs. “Still…when we first got here, Hope was determined to stay and fight for a city that she didn’t even know. _That_ is the girl I raised. But me…I just wanted to run. To get her as far away from here as possible.” She looks up at Elijah. “How did I become this? I swore I would never teach my daughter to run away from a fight, and yet as soon as we got here I wanted to leave.”

“You have spent the past fifteen years raising your daughter alone, protecting her from the things in this world that would cause her harm. I hardly think you could be blamed for trying to do your job.”

Hayley gives half a shrug. “Yeah, well…maybe it’s time I learned from her. If she wants to stay, to be a part of this community…I guess I’m willing to give it a shot. Again.”

Elijah trails the backs of his fingers up her arm, across her shoulder, and up her neck, where he rests his hand to pull her into a kiss. Then he steps back and offers her his arm. “Shall we?”

She loops her arm through his and gestures vaguely to the door. “Well, there’s no way this can go wrong.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hope stares wide-eyed at herself in a full-length mirror, twisting her body this way and that to take it all in. Her dress, emerald green with a halter bodice and a long satin skirt, is the single most beautiful thing she’s ever put on her body, and it feels simultaneously perfect and foreign. Her hair is curled into an elaborate updo, courtesy of Rebekah. The skirt swishes as she moves, and suddenly she feel very, very adult.

Her eyes are still glued to her reflection when the door opens. They flick up to see River entering the bedroom, and both of them freeze as they take each other in. River’s wearing a one-shoulder drop waist gown in a magnificent deep purple, her train trailing out behind her. Her hair is twisted into a beautiful pouf on one side of her head. The girls stare at each other through the mirror, each captivated by the other.

“Wow,” Hope breathes after a long while.

“Wow,” River agrees. “You look—”

“ _You_ look—” They both laugh at their awkwardness. Hope turns to face River properly. “Bet this isn’t what you expected for an eighteenth birthday party.”

“Well what about you?” River picks up the front of her dress and walks over to Hope so they can both look into the mirror. “Like, a week ago you and your mom were living in a rental house smaller than some of the apartments near campus. And now…look at you. I’m pretty sure that _dress_ costs more than that house.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re right.” She tips her head onto River’s shoulder. “I don’t know if I know how to be a Mikaelson. It’s a name I’ve…clung to my entire life, but…now that I’m faced with the reality of it…”

“Hey, at least you’ve always known who the Mikaelsons were. I’m just now finding out that _my_ family is a werewolf line, and that I’m the end of that line.”

“Mm, true.”

River laces her fingers with Hope’s and squeezes. “I think you’re going to be great. Don’t forget, your family already loves you. It’s not like you have to prove anything to them. If anything, I bet your dad would find it hilarious if you found a way to screw up Elijah’s party.” She looks down at her girlfriend. “You know what you have to do?”

“Channel my inner Blue Ivy?”

“Channel _the hell_ out of your inner Blue Ivy.”

“I think I can do that.” Hope lifts her head to give River a quick kiss. Then she says, “Thanks for being here.”

“Hey, as long as you keep paying me in dope-ass dresses, I’ll be here. Now, I have to go to Rebekah’s room, something about ‘the sharpest cat-eye you’ll ever see in your entire life.’” She starts to head for the door, but something catches her eye. “Hey, your birthmark.”

Hope looks over her shoulder in the mirror. Her sleeveless dress puts her crescent moon birthmark prominently on display. “Oh yeah. I didn’t think about that.”

“You usually keep it covered up, that’s all. I forget you have it.” She smiles. “I love it.”

“My mom always told me I needed to keep it hidden, that if someone recognized us we could be in danger. But here…” She shrugs. “Everyone knows I’m a Crescent. And a Mikaelson. And a witch. There’s not much left to hide.”

“Plus it’s cute.”

Hope laughs. “Plus it’s cute.”

 

* * *

 

Dressed in a crisp, deep maroon suit, Marcel strolls through the Mikaelson courtyard, glancing about at the elegant décor. He stops to swipe a canapé off of the food table, and is just popping it into his mouth when a voice behind him says, “I didn’t think kings normally stooped to stealing food before a party.”

Marcel turns lazily to see Klaus, in a gray three-piece suit with a purple tie, judging him with an eyebrow raised. Marcel lifts his own hands in innocence, swallowing the canapé. “Hey, I just came to make a peace offering.”

“A peace offering?” Klaus gasps in mock astonishment. “Am I to believe that the great Marcel Gerard has deemed the lowly Mikaelsons fit to remain in his most glorious city?”

Resisting an eye roll, Marcel says, “If things were different, I’d’ve had your asses out of city limits days ago. If things were different, you’d still be locked up in your own basement.” Klaus’s eyes narrow dangerously. “But things are what they are, and I’m not here to start a fight. In fact, I’m here to prevent one.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“My nightwalkers. There’s a small army of them outside.” Outrage colors Klaus’s face, but Marcel quickly elaborates. “They’re here for protection. Man, it’s Hope’s birthday. I don’t wanna see anything go down tonight. They’re just gonna be standing guard. I swear it on my life.”

Klaus seems mollified, but he warns, “It _will_ be on your life, because if those nightwalkers so much as look at my daughter _or_ her girlfriend the wrong way, I will come for you.”

A calm smile spreads across Marcel’s face. “Don’t forget, you can’t kill me. But your concern is noted.”

He starts to walk away toward the bar, but stops when he hears, “Marcellus.” He turns back to see Klaus, eyes downcast. “Thank you.”

Marcel nods, and then goes to order himself a drink.

 

* * *

 

River finds her mom in her guest bedroom, perched on the bed in a long, yellow gown. She’s looking down at her cell phone. “Hey.”

Rachel looks up at her daughter, standing nervously in the doorway. “Hey, baby. C’mon in.” River enters, closing the door behind her, and sits on the bed next to her mom. “You look so beautiful, baby girl. When did you grown up? Wasn’t it yesterday your daddy and I were droppin’ you off at preschool, with your lil’ Rapunzel backpack? Thing was bigger than you were.”

River laughs. “Mom…” She looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Tulane.”

“River…”

“No. I know you guys expected me to go to a state school. They’re cheaper, obviously. And more convenient. If I went to Florida State, I could still live at home, keep my job at the restaurant. I know it’s the smart thing to do.”

“…But you wanna go to Tulane.”

River’s still avoiding her mother’s searching eyes. “They’ve got an amazing medicine program, and…you know I’ve always wanted to be a vet. And…well, Hope’s going to be here. Probably. Definitely.” River lets out a dry laugh. “It’s not like she can leave now.”

“Huh?”

She shakes her head. “Never mind. I should have talked to you and Dad about this, but…I like New Orleans.” _Except for the kidnappers,_ she doesn’t say. “It’s a _lot_ bigger than Tallahassee, and I think…I think I could use something bigger in my life right now.” She pauses. “Plus…there’s a pack here. I mean, you and Dad will _always_ be my pack, but…this wolf thing is hard, and I could use all the help I can get.”

They’re silent for a few moments, the clock on the wall ticking down the seconds until Rachel finally says, “Okay.”

River turns to look at her mother, eyes wide. “Okay?”

“I ain’t sayin’ it’s gonna be easy. But if this is what you wanna do…”

“It is!” River throws her arms around her mother. “Thank you! I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”

“Careful, don’t wrinkle your dress!” They both laugh. “Alright, baby. We’ll figure out the messy bits later. We’ve got a party to get to.”

 

* * *

 

He finds her on her balcony, her face tipped up toward the barely-waning moon. She is bathed in its soft blue light, and it hits him suddenly, painfully: his daughter is a woman. He clears his throat, and she looks down, but not back at him. “Hi.” It’s cool, to say the least.

Klaus drops a thin square box wrapped in shiny gold paper onto her bed and then walks up to the balcony doors. “A princess surveying her kingdom.”

Hope stiffens at that. She looses a breath. “Right. I’m a princess, which makes you…a king?” She’s still not looking at him.

“Hope, I would like…to apologize for insinuating that my political machinations are taking precedence over you.” He steps forward and places a hand on her elbow, gently turning her to look at him. “You will _always_ be the most important thing in my life.”

“Am I?” Hope’s face blooms into something melancholic. “I can’t be a tool for you to grab power, Dad. I can’t be…I need to know that you actually give a shit about _me_ , and not what I can give you.”

Heart breaking, Klaus pulls his daughter into a hug, her face pressed against his chest. “My littlest wolf…” He rests his chin atop her head. “I have not been the father you deserve. I don’t know if know how to be that father. I never had one, a good father who loved his children above all else. I had a tyrant, and I swore to myself, to your mother, and to you that I would not become him.” He grasps Hope’s shoulders and pushes her away so he can look her directly in the eyes. “I have broken that oath. I may very well break it again. I have a thousand years of living to unlearn. All I can ask for is your patience, and your forgiveness as I try to figure out how to be the father you deserve.”

Hope sniffs, and reaches a finger up to wipe under her eyes. “As far as apologies go, that didn’t suck.” She laughs, and her father smiles warmly. “Maybe I shouldn’t expect perfection from someone who never got the chance to actually be a dad.” She slowly sticks her hand into the pocket of her dress and pulls out a faded, wrinkled envelope. The breath leaves Klaus’s body. “I’ve been trying to work up the courage to read this all day.” She turns it over in her hands, staring at the word _Hope_ written in small script across the front. “Mom gave this to me on my tenth birthday, told me to read it whenever I was ready.” She hands it to him. “I think I’m ready now.”

Hands slightly shaking, Klaus carefully opens the envelope and removes the folded piece of paper from inside. The smell of the paper reminds him of that day in Lucien Castle’s penthouse, of the sacrifices that his entire family made to keep each other safe. He unfolds the letter, and in the barest whisper, reads, “My dearest Hope, I do not know how this will find you: as a child full of wonder, a teenager full of opinions, or a woman…” He takes a deep breath. “…a woman with the world at her feet. I write to tell you that I love you, and to explain that in our family’s darkest hour, I was called upon to save my siblings, and I did so. Please, do not mourn me. Whatever pain I endure, I do in service of those I love. My sole regret is that I will be away from you.

“Be good to your mother. I draw comfort knowing that she will protect you. And I know she will not rest until our family is united. Until then, my sacrifice will allow you to grow, to become the beautiful daughter…the beautiful daughter I can now only imagine. Please remember that you are the legacy this family has always desired, the promise we fought to protect. You will always be…our hope.”

Hope’s eyes are closed, a tear sliding down one cheek. Klaus wipes it away with the pad of his thumb, and then bends down to kiss her forehead. “You _are_ my hope,” he murmurs. “Never, ever forget that.”

Hope nods. She wants to tell him, can feel the words burning in her chest: _I’m the Advocate._ But they get stuck in her throat, so instead she chuckles through her tears and, wiping at her eyes, says, “And my makeup looked so good.”

“You look beautiful.”

“You have to say that, you’re my dad.”

“True, but flattery isn’t my only gift.” He gestures toward the bed, and Hope turns to look.

Seeing the present, Hope gives her father an intrigued glance and heads inside. She sits down and carefully peels away the gift wrap. She reveals a thin box of red oak with brass hinges. Curious, she opens the box, and her jaw drops. “ _Dad…_ ” She lifts one of the paintbrushes up to examine it. “They’re _beautiful_.” She spies a small inscription toward the top of the handle, and looks closer. It reads _hope_ in beautiful calligraphy. “Dad, did you carve these?”

Klaus nods proudly. “Same oak as the box they come in. I know we still have a lot to learn about each other, but art is a passion we share, and I wanted to honor that.”

Hope gently replaces the paintbrush into the set and then wraps her arms around her father once more. “Thank you.”

Klaus holds his daughter, heart full to bursting, before stepping back and holding out his arm. “I think it’s time we introduce the city of New Orleans to its most spectacular child.”

Hope takes a deep breath, and then lets it out. She stands and weaves her arm through her father’s. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Theo’s dressed all in black, a woman on a mission as she takes long-legged strides through Lafayette Cemetery, her heeled boots clacking menacingly on the stone. Leanne can barely keep up as they march toward the LeRoy crypt. “It could be anybody,” she argues, trying not to fall behind. “If it were me, I’d be lying low. It could be weeks before we figure it out.”

“I don’t have weeks,” Theo snaps, rounding a corner. Leanne scrambles behind her. “The longer that… _usurper_ has the sole ear of the ancestors, the harder it’s going to be to rip that power away from them.”

There’s thunderous footsteps behind them, soon joined by the sound of labored breathing. Suddenly, Dominic is running up, cutting in front of the women to make them stop. “Theo!”

Theo moves to push past him. “Not now, Dom—”

Dom steps in front of her again. “I have news from one of our scouts.”

That gives Theo pause. “Which one?”

“Michael.”

Impatiently, Theo asks, “Michael from the Quarter or Michael from the Tremé?”

“Michael, the one tailing Vincent.”

Now she’s definitely interested. “And what does he have to tell us about our dear regent?”

“Big news: he knows who the Advocate is.”

And with that, a slow, wicked grin lights up Theo’s face.

 

* * *

 

The string quartet is playing an up-tempo number, an instrumental cover of a song from Lady Gaga’s 2021 album. Most of the guests, all bedecked in finery typical of a Mikaelson affair, are either dancing or milling about, the light hum of conversation the constant harmony to the music. Hope’s hiding by the food table, keeping her hands and mouth full of circles of bruschetta, a convenient excuse to avoid socializing. River’s off dancing with her mother, and Hope can see her father schmoozing with some people who look important. She’s not sure where the rest of her family is, but as it stands, when she looks out at the crowd, she hardly sees anyone she recognizes.

“You don’t look like you’re having much fun.” Hope turns to see Rebekah, stunning in a red dress with a nearly completely see-through bodice, smiling at her sympathetically. Behind her stands Freya, in a sleeveless white dress of her own.

She smiles wryly at her aunts. “Yeah, I’m starting to think that this maybe isn’t my speed.”

“Nonsense,” Freya says. She gently removes the tray of bruschetta from Hope’s hands, ignoring the birthday girl’s noise of protest, and sets it back on the long food table. “You may have been raised by Hayley Marshall, but you’re a Mikaelson, and Mikaelsons love a good soirée.”

“This is Elijah’s fault,” Rebekah insists. “He’s so boring.”

“Come.” Freya hooks her arm through Hope’s, and then Rebekah’s doing the same on the other side. “Dance with your aunts.”

Hope allows herself to be dragged into the middle of the courtyard, where’s she’s spun in a circle by Rebekah. A laugh bubbles out of her, and soon she’s fallen prey to the music, swaying and twirling and stepping in time. Before long, River and her mother have joined their small dance circle, and the five of them are full to bursting with laughter. The song ends, and a light applause scatters among the partygoers. A bright smile still on her face, Hope stumbles away to swipe a glass of water off of a server’s tray. As she sips, she feels something press into her hand.

Surprised, she looks about; there’s no one around her. She opens her hand, and there’s a crumpled piece of paper there. Hope steps into a corner, glass abandoned on a different server’s tray, and flattens the note. _Come into the tunnels,_ she reads. Nothing else, just one sentence penned in an untidy scrawl. Her eyes scan the crowd again; no one’s looking at her, no one’s acting suspiciously.

She briefly considers going to one of her parents, but it would take her ages to find them in the throng, and besides, she’s far stronger now than she was when Theo lured her to the City of the Dead. Just like that, her mind is made up, and she’s once more crumpling the note into her fist.

 

* * *

 

The music is faint behind her as Hope descends the final steps into the tunnels below the Mikaelson compound. There’s a short hallway that curves, dumping her into a large cavern, the very same one in which her father had been kept prisoner for fifteen years. Waiting for her in its center are the last three people she expected to see: Marcel, Vincent, and Rose.

Face colored with confusion, Hope enters the cavern tentatively. “What is this?” She lifts the balled-up note in her hand. “I got your message.”

Marcel rubs his hands together. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah, I got that much.”

Vincent steps forward. “Look Hope, when you told me that you had been granted access to the ancestors—”

Eyes wide, Hope cuts him off. “You _told_ them? After telling me to keep my mouth shut?”

“They needed to know, Hope, because like me, they’ve come to realize something pretty important about you.”

“And what’s that?” Hope’s tone is edging on defensive.

He shrugs, a soft smile on his face. “That you are the key to bringing peace to New Orleans.”

Hope stares. “Okay, look, I’ve got a party to get back to—”

“Listen to him, Hope.” It’s the first time Rose has spoken. She looks so much different than she had out in the bayou, now dressed in a bohemian-style dress with a long blue skirt. “What he’s saying makes sense.”

Hope’s eyes flick back to Vincent, and he takes that as his cue to continue. “For over a century, this city has known war. We have had kings and tyrants and everything in between and none of ‘em have been able to establish a lasting peace.

“But you…you are different, Hope Mikaelson. You don’t represent one of us. No, you represent _all_ of us. A New Orleans witch, born of a New Orleans wolf and one of the vampires who built New Orleans from its very bricks. This city lives in in you. It is the blood in your veins, the breath in your lungs. There is no one we can trust more to lead us—lead us to peace, to community…to the New Orleans we have always dreamed of.”

Hope’s slack-jawed, shaking her head just perceptibly. “You’re crazy,” she breathes. “You’re all crazy.”

“You feel it, don’t you?” Marcel steps forward, and Hope watches him cautiously. “Vincent told me ‘bout how you described being in this city when you first came back. You felt it in you, felt it calling to you.”

“I don’t see how—”

“This is your legacy, Hope,” Vincent says. “Your daddy thought himself a king, and your momma was queen to them wolves out in the bayou.” Rose’s jaw clenches but she doesn’t interrupt. “We believe that _you_ are the one who can bring these communities together in the name of a peace we ain’t had in generations.”

“So will you do it?” Hope’s eyes snap back to Marcel. “Will you step up to lead this city, the city that gave you life, the city that went to war for you? Will you be the queen we’ve been waiting a long time to follow?”

Stunned into silence, Hope can’t do anything but gape, wide-eyed and breathless, between the three most powerful people in New Orleans.

 

* * *

 

Despite the covert elbow-rubbing and the low murmur of gossip that ripples through the crowd, the party isn’t actually terrible. Hayley stands on the first floor balcony, leaning out over the courtyard below with a glass of whiskey in her hand. She takes a sip, watching Rebekah pull a resigned Elijah into a dance. She smiles, thinking of the dance she shared with him earlier in the night.

There’s a sudden presence beside her. Not even bothering to look, she says, “If you want some of the good stuff, you’re going to have to raid your own liquor cabinet.”

“I think I’m fairly well-educated as to the location of the best alcohol in this house,” Klaus says dryly. “Rebekah is not as sneaky as she likes to imagine.”

The parents stand beside each other, passively observing the party below. Hayley spies River talking with Freya near the makeshift stage. She assumes that Hope is lost in the mass of dancers, given that the quartet is currently delivering an expert rendition of a Beyoncé hit. Quietly she says, “For what it’s worth, I did my best to make sure that the idea she had of her father was something…hopeful. I tried to keep all of the bad things away—not just about you, but about…all of it. This life. I wasn’t always successful, but…”

“Of course you were successful.” Hayley’s surprised by the conviction in Klaus’s voice. “No one could look at this child, our child, and say that she is anything less than perfection.” Hayley smiles softly. “Obviously I would have given anything to be able to spend these most important years with our daughter, but if she had to be raised by one person…there is no one better I could have chosen for the task.”

“She really is something, isn’t she?” Hayley sighs.

“She’s tenacious, and stubborn, and powerful…rather mouthy, too. All traits I’m sure she’s learned from her mother.”

Hayley rolls her eyes. “Right, because her stubbornness couldn’t _possibly_ have come from the parent who has spent a millennium sticking his siblings with daggers because they annoy him.”

Klaus’s smile is half-abashed, half-pleased. “Well…”

Before Klaus can finish his thought, every light in the compound goes out, plunging the partygoers into inky black darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Part Two.


	14. Episode Thirteen, Part Two: Hope for a Life That is Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode contains two musical cues. When you come upon a hyperlinked phrase, please click the link to be taken to a YouTube video that will play a song chosen to accompany that scene.

Hope feels impossibly small in the cavern below her family home, eyes staring wide at the floor as she avoids the imploring gazes of the vampire king, the witch regent, and the wolf alpha. After a seemingly endless silence, a loud, sharp laugh bubbles up out of her, startling the others. She claps a hand over her mouth, surprised by her own reaction, but her shoulders still jerk with the force of it. Removing the hand, she says, “You almost had me there.”

The other three exchange side-eyed glances, before Rose says, “We’re not kidding, Hope.”

“Of course you are!” Hope’s tone just shy of shrill. “I mean, Jesus, I’ve been eighteen for less than twenty-four hours and you think I’m going to be the queen of a city?” She starts to pace the width of the cavern, hands moving wildly as she speaks. “Of _course_ you’re joking, because that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in my goddamn life. I can’t be trusted to keep a goldfish alive, much less stop a city from tearing itself apart—”

“We’ll help you,” Marcel interjects. “No one expects you to do this alone. Each of us will still speak for our communities individually, but _you_ will speak for us as a collective.”

“Have it all figured out, do you?” Hope snaps, still pacing.

Vincent sighs. “Look, Hope—”

Before he can finish the thought, there’s a loud commotion heard from the party upstairs. Hope stops her pacing and looks upward. “What’s going on?”

“Stay here.” Marcel makes his way to the entrance of the tunnel. “I’ll go check it out.”

 

* * *

 

Klaus can’t even see his own hand in front of his face. Whatever magic was used to kill the lights is also blocking the moonlight from streaming through the glass roof. The sound from the party is deafening, each guest talking louder than the next in a panicked attempt to figure out what is happening.

“Hope!” Klaus shouts down, gripping the fencing of the balcony. “Hope, where are you?”

“Hope?” Hayley calls, still beside him. “Hope!”

“We have to find her,” Klaus growls. “ _Now._ ”

“Find her? We can’t see a damn thing in here; how are we supposed to find one person in this mess?”

“We’re wolves, aren’t we? Sniff her out!”

For a moment, Hayley is grateful for the darkness, so Klaus can’t see the face she makes as she realizes he has a good point. The two of them start to feel their way around the balcony to head for the stairs when a loud, clear voice rings out, echoing through the compound and freezing them in their tracks.

“ _Bring out Hope Mikaelson._ ”

 

* * *

 

Marcel ducks into the cavern, where the others are waiting for him. Hope, who had been leaning against a wall, pushes herself off and demands, “What’s happening up there?”

Before Marcel can answer, River appears from behind him. Hope runs up to her and throws her arms around her neck. “River, oh my god.”

“It’s so dark,” River breathes. She breaks the hug and grips Hope’s arms. “Hope, my mom is still up there.”

Hope looks to Marcel, who asks, “Did you hear it?”

She doesn’t need clarification; she nods. “Who?”

“Theo.” They turn to look at Vincent, who shrugs. “She must know.”

Hope takes a moment to process. “Okay. Okay.” She pushes River toward Marcel. “Marcel, take River through the tunnels and get her somewhere safe.”

River’s jaw drops. “Hope, no—”

“I can’t help everyone else unless I know you’re safe.”

“And _I’m_ not leaving this place until I know my mother is safe.”

They glare at each other for a while before Hope finally relents. “Fine. But you are _not_ going back up into that mess until it’s over.”

“Fine.” River looks over and notices for the first time that Rose in there. “Hey…what’re you doing here?”

“Um.” Rose nods to Hope. “I’m trying to convince your girlfriend to become the queen of New Orleans.”

River nods, shrugs as if that were the most obvious answer in the world. “Oh.”

 

* * *

 

The Mikaelson siblings and Hayley manage to all make their way into the library, where Freya finds a single candle and lights it. “The spell on this building is strong,” she informs them, her face flickering in the candlelight. “It’s taking all of my energy just to give us this much light.”

“What do these witches want with Hope?” Elijah asks, his hand on the small of Hayley’s back. “Their Harvest ritual is complete, what else could they possibly need from her?”

“How are we going to _find_ her?” Hayley’s entire body is tense. “She’s a Mikaelson, so we need to get to her before she does something stupid, like give herself over to them.”

“There aren’t many places she can be,” Klaus insists. “What about the tunnels?”

Freya shakes her head. “If they know about them, which is likely, they’re probably already crawling with witches. To go down there would be a death sentence.”

“The nightwalkers.” The others look at Klaus in confusion. “Marcel offered his nightwalkers as protection against threats such as this.”

“Do you mean those nightwalkers?” They turn to see Rebekah by the window, staring down at the ground. They slowly make their way to her and peer outside. By the light of a streetlamp they can see the contorted bodies of vampires strewn about the sidewalk, some with pieces of wood sticking out of their chests, others with their hearts lying several feet away from their corpses, others still with their heads removed completely.

“Find Hope,” Hayley breathes, voice still as death. “Find her…before they do.”

Before anyone can move, a sharp, terrified shriek reverberates through the compound.

 

* * *

 

The three supernatural community leaders finish filling River in on their proposal to Hope. The girl in question says, “Isn’t that the craziest shit you’ve ever heard?”

“Actually…it makes a lot of sense.”

Hope throws her hands up in exasperation, as Rose says, “See, Hope?”

Hope’s ready to argue her case further when the same voice from before, echoing and ominous, rings out. “We have your girlfriend’s mother. Surrender in five minutes or we rip her heart out and descend upon these people like a plague.”

All eyes turn to River, whose face has suddenly gone very, very pale.

 

* * *

 

The Mikaelsons tear their way through the courtyard, moving from guest to guest in a blur as they try to locate either Hope or River.

Hayley finds Mary pressed against a wall, figures out it’s her only through scent. “Mary, are you okay?”

Mary clutches her arm. “Oh, there you are. Where’s Hope?”

“I don’t know, I was hoping you were with her.”

“I ain’t seen her all night. You know what she’s gonna do, don’t ya?”

“I know, Mary.”

“They have her girl’s momma.”

“I know, Mary, I—” She gives a frustrated sigh. “If you find her, staple her to a table or something.” And then she’s off, diving in the fray once more.

On the other side of the courtyard, Klaus and Elijah crash into each other, both coming up empty-handed in their search. “She’s not _here_ ,” Klaus hisses. “That’s it—I’m going to the tunnels.”

Elijah grabs his arm to keep him in place. “Let me go, brother. If these fiendish witches truly have infiltrated the tunnels, it is better Hope lose an uncle than her father.”

“No.” Klaus grips Elijah by the shoulders. “Stay with Hayley. Should I be killed by witches tonight I will have my daughter know that I prioritized her mother’s wellbeing over my own.” And then he disappears into the dark.

 

* * *

 

“Breathe, River.” Hope has her girlfriend wrapped in her arms, running a hand soothingly up and down her back.

“My _mom_ , she has my _mom_ —”

“I know, I know.” Hope glares at the others over River’s shoulder. “Why is she doing this?”

“She’s pissed off,” Vincent spits. “She thought she was gonna have that channel to the ancestors and now that belongs to a girl who she sees as an enemy to the witches.”

“I have done _nothing_ to her! And so far she’s kidnapped my girlfriend and her mother, so where does she get off calling _me_ an enemy?” Hope gently peels River off of her. Kissing her forehead, she murmurs, “Stay here, okay? I’m going to fix this.” She heads for the exit.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Marcel barks, stepping to block her path.

“I’m _going_ to save River’s mother.”

“The hell you are!”

“Listen, Hope,” Vincent says. “You may be powerful, more powerful than any witch that’s walked through this Quarter, but Theo’s got numbers. Even if you manage to stop her, you’ll never stop everyone behind her.”

“You don’t get to have it both ways!” Hope snaps. “You can’t ask me to be in charge of this city one minute and not let me defend it the next.” The two men fall silent. “This is what you’re asking for, isn’t it? Someone to stand up and say enough? To put an end to the war that’s been raging on and off for decades? But now you’re telling me not to go out there and protect someone innocent? I can’t do both. I can’t hide away in the shadows where it’s safe and be a good leader at the same time.”

There’s a pregnant silence. Then, quietly, Rose says, “She’s right.” She shrugs. “She’s right. We asked her to be a queen. Let her be one.” Rose walks up to Hope, looks her straight in the eye. “If you do this, there’s no turning back. If you go out there and announce to the city of New Orleans that _you’re_ in charge, you can’t undo it. It’ll be done. So you have to decide right now: are you willing to step up for _all_ of us? Because if you can’t, if it’s too much, I understand. It’s the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do. But if you do it…” She raises her chin, straightens her back. “I will follow you.”

All Hope can do is stare, dumbfounded. Before she can find the words, Marcel and Vincent come to stand behind Rose, a gesture of silent solidarity. Hope’s eyes dance between all three of them, and then, slowly, she turns toward the cavern entrance.

 

* * *

 

[Just outside the compound](http://bit.ly/pr1x13-1), which is sealed shut with a boundary spell, Theo leans against the brick wall, eyes on her watch. “Her five minutes are up,” she announces to no one in particular. She pushes herself off of the wall and stalks over to Rachel, who’s crumpled next to a pillar. She grabs the woman by the arm and jerks her to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Theo storms the entrance, her small battalion of witches hot on her heels. They spill into the foyer to the darkened courtyard, where Theo tosses Rachel to the floor. “Your time is up, Hope Mikaelson!” she shouts as a hush falls over the crowd. At once, the Mikaelson vampires and the hybrid mother move in a blur toward them, but they quickly find themselves crippled over in pain, clutching their temples as multiple witches hit each of them with aneurysms. “I’m going to gut this bitch and then start pulling your family apart, limb by limb.”

She extends a hand toward Rachel, who immediately begins to cough up blood. She clutches at her chest, nails clawing as she tries to prevent her heart from flying out of her body. Theo smirks at the terror in her eyes.

The deed is nearly done when every single light in the Mikaelson compound bursts to life. The light is blinding, crackling and electric, and everyone, witches and vampires and werewolves alike, cover their eyes, which had grown accustomed to the darkness.

When Theo finally regains her senses, she looks up, and the breath _whooshes_ from her body. On the first floor landing, near the top of the stairs, stands Hope Mikaelson, arms outstretched. Her entire body is pulling long, her shoulders back as the energy rippling off of her ricochets throughout the compound. Her face is like stone as she surveys the scene below her. Eyes falling on Rachel, hands still pressed to her chest, Hope manages not to betray an ounce of emotion.

Slowly, Hope makes her way down the stairs, every light in the buildings still flickering brightly. The party guests stare at her in awe, parting silently as she cut through the crowd. Her heels clack like gunshots on the stone until she stops mere feet from Theo, who regards her cautiously.

“Let her go.”

It’s not a shout, nor a whisper. There isn’t a moment’s hesitation in Hope’s voice, not a quiver to be heard. The command is simple, and when Theo doesn’t move, she repeats it. “I said, let her go.”

Theo’s eyes narrow and she sets her jaw. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“You thought wrong.” Hope snaps her fingers, and the spells bombarding her family members cease. With a snarl, Klaus immediately moves to take Theo down, but Elijah grabs him by the arm and shakes his head, eyes trained on his niece.

“You never should have come back here,” Theo hisses. “The witches have been preparing for our triumphant return to power for five _years_ , and your _infestation_ of a family has ruined everything. But I don’t care about them. You…you’re the bitch who stole what was mine. _I_ was supposed to be the Advocate.”

“But you’re not,” Hope snaps. “I am.” Gasps ring out from the crowd, and even Klaus stops fighting his brother’s hold to stare. “And now, I don’t just speak for the ancestors.” She takes a step forward. “I speak for _all_ of New Orleans.”

 

* * *

 

_The sands of Baja California are warm, and they curve to the shape of Hope’s toes. Her tiny hands keep pushing her long, red hair out of her face, but the gentle breeze blowing in off the ocean just whips them back again. She splashes out of the water, trudging up the dunes to her mother, who’s sitting beneath a gargantuan red umbrella up in the softer sands. Hope plops down beside her with a sigh. “All the fish swim away.”_

_Hayley looks down at her seven-year-old. “That’s because you’re bigger than they are, and they’re scared of you.”_

_“That’s silly. I’m not scary at all.”_

_Hayley hums, and her eyes fall back to the papers in her hands. It’s a small stack, with the manila envelope they came in at the back. Hope peers her head around to read what’s written on the front:_ For H. Marshall _._

_She scrunches her nose. “Hey Mom?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“How come your last name is Marshall but my last name is Mikaelson? We’re related, right?”_

_Hayley slowly lowers the papers until they’re resting her lap. Hope takes a sly peek, but most of the words are too complicated for her to understand. Hayley takes a deep breath. “Do you remember what I told you about your daddy?”_

_Hope nods. “He had to go away, but he loves me very much, and wishes that he could be with me all the time.”_

_“Right. Well, Mikaelson is your dad’s last name, so it’s yours, too.”_

_“Oh.” Hope tugs on a pull in her Disney beach towel. “Katie’s parents have the same last name.”_

_Confused, Hayley asks, “Who’s Katie?”_

_“That girl we met in Sas-Saska—”_

_“Saskatchewan?”_

_“Yeah, that one. The one with the big dog. Her parents are Mr. Jenkins and Mrs. Jenkins. Same name. ”_

_“Right.” Hayley sets her papers to the side, crosses her legs, and tugs her daughter into her lap. She hugs her around the middle, despite Hope’s soaking wet purple bathing suit, and says, “Katie’s parents have the same last name because they’re married.”_

_“So you and my dad aren’t married?”_

_Hayley bites back a laugh. “Um, no. Your dad…your dad is very important to me, but…I don’t love him like that.”_

_“Okay…” Hope tucks her hair behind her ears. “But why do I have_ his _name? I live with_ you _.”_

_“That’s true. Do you know what it means to be adopted?”_

_Hope rolls her eyes. “I’m seven, not stupid.”_

_With a laugh, Hayley says, “Okay, okay. Well, my parents, my real parents, died when I was very little, just a baby.”_

_“That’s sad.”_

_“I didn’t know them, so it’s kind of hard to be sad about people you don’t know.”_

_“Well, I’m still sad for them.”_

_Hayley kisses her daughter’s cheek. “That’s because you have the biggest heart of any person I have ever met.”_

_“Alright, alright, get back to the story.”_

_“Right. So, my parents died, and I was adopted by a family. The Marshalls.”_

_“Hey, that’s your name!”_

_“Hey! Look at that!” Hope rolls her eyes again, and Hayley continues. “I was a part of their family until I was thirteen, when I…moved out.”_

_Hope’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. “Thirteen? That’s only…” She counts on her fingers. “Six years older than me!”_

_“I know! But that’s a story for a different day. What I’m trying to say is…the name Marshall doesn’t mean very much to me. My adopted parents weren’t very good parents, and I don’t have a lot of attachment to being a Marshall. So we decided to give you your daddy’s last name because…it means something, to be a Mikaelson.”_

_“Oh.” Hope wriggles her toes in the sand for a few minutes, contemplating silently. Then she asks, “Well…what does it mean?”_

_Hayley sighs. “Well…Mikaelsons are…loyal. Sometimes too much, sometimes not enough, but more than anything, they are loyal to other Mikaelsons. They take care of each other. They love each other, and hate each other, but at the end of the day, Mikaelsons protect Mikaelsons. They have big hearts, just like you, and even though they don’t always do the right thing, they always try their best. To be a Mikaelson is to be powerful, and strong, and, despite how it might seem from the outside, very, very human.”_

_Hope gives a small, put-upon sigh. “I don’t know if I can do all that.”_

_Hayley smiles softly. “I think you’re doing just fine. Do you know what your dad and his siblings used to say to each other all the time?” Hope shakes her head. “_ Always and forever. _”_

_“What does that mean?”_

_“It means that they promised to love and protect and be there for one another until the end of time. It’s a promise that I made, too, when I had you, when I became a part of the Mikaelson family. That’s why we move around so much. I’m keeping that promise to them.”_

_“Always and forever,” Hope says with a quiet reverence. “That’s a lot.”_

_“It is,” Hayley agrees with a nod. “But you know what?”_

_“What?”_

_“You’re a Mikaelson. That promise is already inside you. So I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I think it’ll make sense when the time is right.”_

_“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Hope stands up. “I’m gonna go try to make some fish friends again.”_

_She starts to dash away, but Hayley quickly grabs her by the arm and tugs her back. “Uh-uh, not without some more sunscreen. You know what else it means to be a Mikaelson? Norwegian skin. I swear, you burn like toast every time you look out a window.” She grabs the Coppertone from her beach bag, and Hope rolls her eyes again._

* * *

 

Once the murmurs quiet, Theo sneers, “Do you _really_ think that the people of this city will follow some teenage girl who hasn’t even been here since she was two years old? _Especially_ if she’s a Mikaelson? There will chaos in the streets.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe my family’s legacy in this city will be too much to overcome. I don’t know. But I can tell you what I do know: I am a Crescent, a child of the wolves of New Orleans. Once upon a time, my mother was their queen. And the Crescents have been silenced for so long I don’t think they’ll care very much how old I am if I’m the one who gives them a voice.

“I’m also the first child of a vampire in _history_. That vampire came to New Orleans when it was a port town that no one had ever heard of, and thanks to him and his family, it is now one of the most supernatural cities in the world. The presence of the vampires here is all thanks to that _Mikaelson_ name you think will cause me so much trouble.

“And like you said,” Hope continues, her red lips curled into a smile. “I _am_ the Advocate for the ancestors of the witches of New Orleans. I alone can hear them. And I hear them—their plans, their fears, their advice, their anger. All of it flows through _me_. You plotted and you planned for five years and at the end of it all _I’m_ the one with the ears of the ancestors. That makes me pretty crucial to the continued survival of the witches of this city.”

“You think all of that means anything?” Theo spits. “It means _nothing_. There aren’t any wolves left to matter, and if you think the vampires will abandon Marcel, you’re out of your mind.”

The crowd starts to murmur again, and this time when they part, it’s Marcel, Vincent, and Rose who approach, all three in a line, to stand behind Hope. Hope stretches her arms out to the side. “The supernatural communities will follow their leaders, and their leaders have chosen to follow me.” Her arms drop. “But that’s what upsets you, isn’t it? It’s not about the witches. It hasn’t been for a long time. Oh, I’m sure that your crusade to restore the connection to the ancestors started with the best of intentions, but somewhere along the way it stopped being about your community and started being about _you_ , your power and how you could get it.

“Look around you, Theo!” Hope gestures to Rachel. “You almost killed an innocent woman, and everyone gathered here, because your plan _worked_ , but it left you without a claim to power. Is that the kind of leader the covens really want?” The army of witches behind Theo, spilling into the street, look at each other nervously. “End this. If you walk away now—”

Theo straightens her back. “What? If I walk away now, you won’t kill me?”

Hope clenches her fists at her sides, and the ground beneath them trembles violently, shaking the entire compound. “If you walk away now, we won’t have to find out.”

Theo and Hope stare each other for a long time, each unblinking in her conviction. Then, in a flash, Theo bends down and yanks Rachel to her feet, holding her up like a shield. Marcel tenses to move, but Hope holds a hand up to stop him. Theo breathes, “This isn’t over,” and shoves Rachel at Hope, who barely catches her. When she’s managed to get her girlfriend’s mother upright, she looks and sees that Theo has disappeared, her followers fleeing into the darkness.

Everyone starts moving. Hayley shoves people out of the way to get to Hope, Rachel is reaching for her daughter, who is rapidly pushing her way through the crowd, and Marcel makes for the exit, Klaus and Elijah hot on his heels. “Leave her!” Hope calls, moments before being crushed against her mother’s chest. She manages to twist herself around to tell them, “Let her go. There’s nothing we can do tonight.”

Klaus opens his mouth to argue, but a hand rests on his shoulder. He turns to see Marcel beside him. “Listen to her,” Marcel says. “Might as well get used to it now.”

 

* * *

 

Rachel Monroe sits on her borrowed bed, her shoes abandoned a few feet away. She rubs at her wrists, still sore from where Theo had bound them together. She looks up when her daughter enters the room, glass of water in hand. “Thank you, baby.”

River hands her mother the glass and sits beside her, the skirts of her dress swirling around her legs. “How do you feel?”

“I feel like kicking that witch bitch’s ass, not that I’d ever find her in a city this big.”

River smiles. “No, probably not.”

After sipping some water, Rachel says, “We gotta get you outta this city, baby girl. It’s way too dangerous for you, and all these vampires around here, you know I don’t trust them.”

“ _I_ trust them, momma. They’re Hope’s family.”

“They’re not _our_ family.”

River takes a deep breath. “No, they’re not. But they’ve taken me in as if I were a part of their family, and that’s not nothing. Besides, I can’t leave forever. What about Tulane?”

Rachel grabs one of her daughter’s hands and squeezes. “I wanna give you the world, River, you know that. But Tulane…we can barely afford to send to you to Florida State, and your daddy works there. Tulane’s a private school, and with budget cuts at the county…”

“Yeah.” River chews at her lip. “Yeah, you’re right. I know that.”

A throat is cleared, and both women turn to see Elijah standing in the doorway, still perfectly creased in his tuxedo. “Forgive me,” he says. “I don’t wish to intrude. I couldn’t help but hear that our dear River is having some difficulty choosing the best path forward with regards to her education.”

“Oh don’t worry about it,” River says quickly with a shake of her head. “I’ll just—”

“I would like to offer you a full scholarship to any academic institution of your choice.”

The Monroes are silent, staring at Elijah as if he has three heads. Eventually, River breathes, “ _What_?”

Elijah smiles gently. “I have always been somewhat of a benefactor in the world of the arts and higher learning. I would consider it a great investment in the future of our nation if I were able to fund your time at university.”

Rachel stands up, eyes narrowed. “I don’t need vampire money to take care of my daughter.”

“Mom!”

Elijah raises a hand to calm the mother. “Your daughter is important to my niece. Therefore, she is important to this family. And my family may be notorious for some…less than noble patterns of behavior, but we are also well-known for our devotion to taking care of our own.” He steps into the room. “Allow us to do this as a gift for your daughter, as well as an apology for everything you have had to endure tonight.”

Rachel looks down at River, who’s looking back with pleading eyes. Finally, she says, “Alright, but you’re comin’ back to visit us often, you hear? I’m not gonna have you forgettin’ ‘bout us while you’re lost in some big city.”

River flies off the bed to hug her mother. “Thank you thank you thank you!” Then she turns, and, much to his surprise, gives Elijah a hug, too. “And thank you.”

Elijah pats her back. “Remember, you are more than a wolf, and more than my daughter’s girlfriend. Your dreams are just as important to this family as they are to you.”

 

* * *

 

Marcel is just about to step into the lobby of his building when suddenly he’s flying through the air, tumbling to a stop halfway down the alley to the east. He picks himself up with a groan. “This was a nice suit.” Then he’s pinned up against the side of the building, toes barely scraping the ground. “Is something the matter?”

Klaus’s breath is hot on his face. “You did this.”

“Look, Klaus—”

Klaus yanks him off the wall just to shove him back into it. “She is my _child_ , Marcellus, and this grand plan of her becoming queen to the misfits of New Orleans absolutely _reeks_ of your influence.”

Marcel raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.” He pushes Klaus off of him, though the Original doesn’t go far. Brushing off his jacket, Marcel explains, “You’re right. I did propose this idea to Hope, along with Vincent and Rose Capitoline, the Crescent alpha. But we honestly believe that she is our best shot at fixing what’s been broken in New Orleans for generations.”

“This will get her _killed_!”

“It _won’t_ ,” Marcel insists. “We’ll protect, guide her through this. But she’s stronger than you think, Klaus. Don’t forget, she’s the one who got your ass out of that wall I was keeping you in.”

“And what of Theo LeRoy?” Klaus challenges. “This woman poses a dangerous threat to my daughter, and she is nowhere to be found.”

“ _Actually_ , if you had let me get back to my place, I was just about to call you. Some of my guys picked Theo up ‘bout twenty minutes ago. They’ve got her locked down tight.”

Klaus’s eyes narrow, begrudgingly impressed. Still, he sticks a finger right in Marcel’s face. “You _will_ protect her, because this is your doing, and if any harm should come to her because of this arrangement, I will not rest until I have found a way to kill you.”

Marcel nods in understanding. As Klaus start to stalk away, Marcel calls after him, “Klaus.” The Original turns. “You know I was real proud of her tonight. She reminded me of all the things I once loved about being a part of the Mikaelson family.”

Klaus stares at him for a long, long time, and then disappears into the night.

 

* * *

 

[She’s standing on her balcony](http://bit.ly/pr1x13-2), shoes off, hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. The air is still warm—early summer in Louisiana—but the dark of the night has taken the edge off. She taps a rhythm onto the railing, actively thinking about nothing, until she feels a presence beside her. “So, all in all, not the worst birthday party I’ve ever had.”

Hayley lets out a low laugh. “No. No, that would be your sixth birthday. I should have realized that we both have a deep-seated fear of clowns.” The mother and daughter stand side by side, the skirts of their dresses brushing against each other. “So…the Advocate.”

Hope scrunches her nose. “I wanted to tell you.”

“We don’t keep secrets, Hope. And it seems like lately, all we have are secrets.”

“I know.” Hope looks anywhere but at her mother. “Things are changing really fast, and it’s hard to know what the right thing to do is anymore.”

“Well…I wouldn’t say I’m particularly _good_ at figuring out what the right thing to do is, but you know that you can always come to me, don’t you? I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to hide things from me.”

“And I don’t! I just…I don’t know. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You mean being the queen of New Orleans?” Hope nods. “Do you even know what that means?”

Hope eyes her mother sideways. “Honestly? I don’t have a clue.”

With a chuckle, Hayley wraps her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “That’s okay. I wasn’t much older than you when I was told that I was queen to a bunch of wolves I’d never even met.”

Hope looks at her curiously. “Don’t you think this is a terrible idea?”

Shrugging, Hayley answers, “You are wise and confident and powerful, and I think this city is lucky to have you. Am I scared for you? I’m your mother. Basically any time you’re not in my direct line of sight I’m in a blind panic.” Hope laughs. “But I trust you. And I know that this family will be here to make sure that you are safe and cared for.”

“Yeah.” She takes a deep breath. “This is a lot to think about.” She rests her head onto her mother’s shoulder. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

Hayley kisses the top of her head. “Sure thing, sweetie.” Hayley pulls her daughter closer to her, wrapping both of her arms around the birthday girl, and the two look up at the moon, bright in its near-fullness, as it continues its arc through the black sky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This two-parter is the end of season one of People and Rhythm, but I am already well underway in the process of planning and writing season two. I've learned a lot over the past few months as I wrote the first season. This has been my biggest writing project to date, and I'm going to take the multitude of lessons I've learned to make season two even better than season one.
> 
> In the meantime, I am not disappearing! I will be posting regularly on my Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm some deleted scenes, short pieces from the world of People and Rhythm that take place before, during, or after season one (but before season two). I'll probably also be posting some extra material, like wardrobe choices, headcanons, etc., things that aren't necessarily going to fit into the telling of this story.
> 
> I also have a question for you all. I have compiled the entirety of season one into a PDF. There's a nice cover page, a table of contents, some bonus material, and, of course, the season itself. My question is this: If I were to make this PDF available for sale, would you be interested in buying it? I would make it available for $1, with the option to pay more if you were so inclined (friendly reminder that I am a recent college graduate on the verge of applying to graduate school). I know that I love reading fics in a PDF format, but if you all aren't interested in having the PDF, that's okay. If you have opinions on the subject, please message me on Tumblr.
> 
> With all that said, the first episode of season two should be posted in early to mid-October, so keep an eye out for it! If you have any questions or suggestions, please feel free to send me an ask or a message. I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> Thank you for reading,  
> M.


	15. Season Two, Episode One: People on the Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As season two begins, I would like to remind you that bonus content, including music selections, deleted scenes, and wardrobe choices, are available at the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm, where you can also read episodes a week before they are available on this site.

With a small twirl of her skirt, Hope exits her bedroom, already tapping on her phone. She falls into step with River, who has a backpack slung over one shoulder and a steely expression on her face as she heads toward the stairs. “You look great!” Hope enthuses, sliding her phone into her pocket.

River shrugs. “This is the fourth outfit I tried on this morning.” They start to climb down the stairs.

“You look great,” Hope insists. “Doesn’t she, Rebekah?”

Rebekah, standing in the courtyard, turns. “Of course you do, River! You’re just nervous.”

“It’s my first day of college, of course I’m nervous.”

When they reach the courtyard, Hope banks a turn to head into the kitchen. “Did you eat?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Already threw it up!”

Hope enters the expansive kitchen, where her mother has just brewed a pot of coffee. Hope hums happily and snags a mug off the counter. “I could use some of this.”

Hayley pours coffee into the mug as Hope grabs milk from the fridge. When she passes the mug back to her daughter, she says, “Coffee is not breakfast.”

“Not with _that_ attitude.” Hope stirs in a splash of milk with a spoon, which she abandons in the sink as she passes it by, and then heads back into the courtyard. She downs half of her scalding drink in one sip, and walks up to River and Rebekah, who have been joined by Elijah. “Heading out?”

“We’re ready when River is,” Elijah answers, watching his niece’s girlfriend carefully.

River nods. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

Hope grabs River by the wrist to pull her in for a kiss. “You’re going to kill it. I’d come with you, but Marcel’s already up my ass about being late.”

“Go.” River returns with a quick peck of her own. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be epic.” Hope squeezes her wrist one more time and then releases it, waving goodbye as the trio heads out. She walks back into the kitchen, downing the rest of her coffee. She sets her mug into the sink just as her phone begins to ring. Hayley, sitting on the counter with a mug of her own, chastises, “You have to _eat_ something.”

Hope, already out the door, calls back, “I’m going to Mama Rae’s!” and then walks through the courtyard and out onto the street. Rolling her eyes, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and answers without looking at the caller ID. “I’m on my way, Marcel.”

“You’re late. Again.”

“Cut me some slack, it’s my girlfriend’s first day of college.”

“It wasn’t your girlfriend’s first day of college last week, when you were also late.”

“No, that was just because I didn’t care.”

“Hope—”

In a singsong voice she cuts him off. “I’m going to Mama Rae’s.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. “Mama Rae’s?”

“Mama Rae’s.” Hope waves hello to a dog being walked beside her. “Would you like anything?”

“If you go to Mama Rae’s you’ll be even later than you already are.” His attempt at scolding is belied by the clear desire in his voice.

“She told me a couple of days ago she’s trying this new recipe out, something like a cronut mixed with a beignet—”

Marcel’s voice gets very quiet, as if he doesn’t want to be overheard. “Alright, pick up a half dozen of those, and some of them biscotti. None one makes ‘em like Mama Rae.”

Hope laughs, and turns a corner. “Alright, I’m almost there. Try to entertain yourselves until I get there.” She hangs up just as she reaches a small glass door with peeling gold lettering that reads _Mama Rae’s Patisserie._ She opens the door and is greeted by a loud mewl. Already weaving between her feet is a fat gray cat with piercing green eyes staring up at her. “Good morning, Beauregard.” She looks up to see a tiny woman in an apron tottering around behind a long, glass display case. “Good morning, Mama Rae!”

The woman turns, face already lighting up. “Mornin’, Hope! Ain’t you a vision!”

“Not half as pretty as you, Mama Rae.”

“Oh hush.” She turns her back on Hope—and her small line of customers—to begin stacking some pink and purple striped boxes. “Today’s the day, ain’t it?”

“Yep. River’s heading off to her first class now.”

“Oh good for her. So smart that one.” Mama Rae swings back to face Hope, who’s now standing on the other side of the case, and presents her with the boxes. “Maybe someday soon she’ll tell me how to stop Beauregard from getting so fat.”

“Maybe stop letting your customers feed him?” Hope suggests, taking the boxes. “This is the usual?”

Mama Rae nods. “With some of them biscotti thrown in, ‘cause I know y’all’re gonna go meet with Marcel Gerard, as well as those new things I’s was tellin’ you about.”

“You’re a saint, Mama Rae. Put this on my tab?” Mama Rae rolls her eyes. “C’mon, you know I’m good for it!”

“I know your family’s good for it, if that’s what you mean.”

Hope starts to back away with the boxes of pastries, a wide grin on her face. “Thank you, Mama Rae!”

“Go on ‘fore you’re so late Marcel just up ‘n’ leaves!”

With a laugh, Hope pushes the door open with her back. She’s only a few blocks from their weekly meeting place, and she spends the short walk taking in the fresh air and trying not to eat the delicacies in her hands. She rounds the final corner, St. James Infirmary in sight, before she gives in, cracking open the top box to sneak a beignet. She pops it into her mouth and brushes the powdered sugar off on her arm before heading inside the bar, not yet open for the day.

Waiting for her at a large round table are the three supernatural community leaders of New Orleans. With a winning smile she sets the boxes in the center of the table. “I brought breakfast.”

“You’re late,” Vincent says, unamused.

“Yeah, but she brought breakfast,” Rose retorts, already digging into the pastries.

Hope shrugs. “Sorry.” She sits down as the other three portion out some of the food. Hope takes a deep breath and says to no one in particular, “Alright. Let this meeting begin!”

 

* * *

 

River sits in the back seat of a sleek black car, staring out the window as hordes of young people walk, bike, and skateboard past. The brick building beside the car looms high overhead, and she suddenly feels very, very small.

“River?” She’s jerked back to the car by Rebekah’s kind voice. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she breathes. “I just really don’t want to screw this up.”

“You know, River,” Elijah says, “if I have learned anything over my family’s many, many years of existence, it is that no matter how horrible a mess you make of things, you will always have the opportunity to set them right.”

Rebekah narrows her eyes at her brother. “That is terrible advice. Have you ever met another person?” She twists herself around to face River. “Sweetheart, you have _nothing_ to worry about. You are brilliant and driven and if you need us to we can always compel a professor or two.” River cracks a smile. “There we are. Off you go. Best not be late your first day.”

“Right.” River opens the car door and steps onto the sidewalk. She leans back down to say, “Thanks for the ride,” and closes the door. Then, after a deep breath, she heads inside the building to her first college class.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know what you expect me to do about this,” Hope sighs, slouched back in her chair. “It’s the end of summer, Vincent, of course tourism is down.”

Jabbing his finger into the wood of the table, Vincent argues, “It ain’t just the end of summer, it’s those damn vampire deaths from last month.”

“And we _dealt_ with that last month,” Marcel snaps. “I can’t bring those tourists back to life.”

“Maybe if you kept a tighter grip on your nightwalkers—”

“Alright, enough.” Hope pinches the bridge of her nose. “Vincent, I get why you’re upset. But Marcel’s right, the vampires responsible have been punished, and since then there have been no new tourist deaths. I don’t know what else you want from us.”

“The witches in the Cauldron—”

“—are going to have to learn that like everything else, tourism happens in waves. Things won’t start picking up again until Mardi Gras. That’s just the way it goes.” Vincent’s eyes narrow, but he settles back in his seat. “Great. Rose, anything you’d like to bring to the table?”

Rose examines her nails. “Oh, only the same thing I bring up every week.”

Vincent and Marcel roll their eyes, but Hope ignores them. “It’s been months. The wolves still don’t feel welcome here?”

“Wonder why _that_ is,” Marcel grumbles to himself.

Rose’s eyes flash dangerously. “Yes, Marcel. I _wonder_ why it is that the wolves are scared to move out of the bayou and into a city brimming with their enemies. Maybe the constant threat from the vampires has something to do with it.”

“Look, I have told my guys time and again to leave the wolves alone.”

“Not three _days_ ago one of your daywalkers intimidated a wolf family outside a Café Du Monde.”

“Marcel,” Hope chastises, “if you can’t keep them in line—”

“This may come as a shock,” Marcel begins sarcastically, “but my guys ain’t exactly keen on this sudden shift in status quo. They’re used to being top dogs around here—no offense,” he says to Rose with a fake smile. She’s less than amused.

Through gritted teeth, Hope hisses, “And I’m sympathetic to that, but let me remind you that this entire set-up was _your_ idea, yours and Vincent’s. You don’t get to complain when it’s less than convenient for you. Get your guys in line, or I’ll find someone who can.”

The others’ eyebrows shoot upward in surprise, a small smile playing the corners of Rose’s mouth. Hope takes a deep breath. “Alright, anything else?”

 

* * *

 

River closes her laptop, shoving it into her backpack as the lecture hall around her shuffles to leave. Her first class, Organic Chemistry, was fascinating. She’s already memorized the syllabus and the required reading list, eager to begin learning. As she exits her row, she feels a tap on her shoulder. She turns to see a young woman with shoulder-length blond hair smiling at her. “Hi!”

“Hi,” River replies. “What can I…?”

“Are you pre-vet by any chance?”

Surprised, River answers, “Yeah, I am. How’d you know?”

“You have a bunch of animal stickers on your laptop.”

River gives an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’d be a giveaway.”

“Well I just stopped you to give you this.” She produces a flyer out of nowhere, and River takes it. There are a number of stock photos of animals, and in bold letters she reads, _Tulane Pre-Veterinary Society_. “We’re having an intro meeting later this week. It’s a great way to meet other pre-vet students, get to know other, network, get internship opportunities. Plus there’s always animals, so…”

“Sounds great!” River beams. “Thanks!”

“No problem! See you next class!” The girl exits the row, leaving River to thank her lucky stars for how wonderfully her first day is going.

 

* * *

 

Freya settles onto her barstool with a sigh. Her phone is continuously alight with demanding messages from her brother, but she can’t be bothered with Niklaus right now. Just as she flips her phone upside down on the bartop, a bartender walks up to her. “Seems like you could use a drink.”

She looks up, and her reply gets caught in her throat. The bartender is beautiful, with long, wavy dark hair and stunning eyes. Freya blinks a few times to clear her head and then says, “Uh, yeah. I’ll take a shot of whatever’s expensive.”

The bartender—Amaya, by her nametag—cracks a sympathetic smile. “Definitely sounds like a rough day.”

“Mm, I was actually having a pretty great day.” Amaya grabs a bottle of Belvedere and pour a shot. “I did some shopping, cleaned out my workspace, got a drink.” She accepts the shot with a smile and knocks it back. She lets out a hiss and continues, “But now my brother wants something from me, and he’s a tough one to ignore.”

“Ooh, I know that feeling.” Amaya snags a thick-bottomed glass and pours in some whiskey. “I live with my brother, so I know all too well the sister struggle.” She slides the glass to Freya.

Freya flicks an eyebrow upward. “I currently live with two of my brothers, my sister, my sister-in-law, my niece, and her girlfriend.” Amaya lets out a disbelieving laugh. “It’s a big family.”

“Damn girl,” Amaya snorts. “You’re gonna need something stronger than that.”

“Bring it on.” Freya takes a slow sip, watching Amaya closely. “Are you new here? It’s just, we come to Rousseau’s a lot, and I’d recognize you.”

“Oh, this is my third day.” She begins to polish a glass with a rag. “I just got to town not that long ago. I’m a grad student at Tulane. My name’s Amaya.” She gestures to her nametag.

Freya lifts up her glass in a toast. “Congratulations. And, um, I’m Freya.”

“Well thank you very much, Freya.” Amaya’s eyes flick to the other patrons, but all seem well taken care of, so she leans down on the bar to talk more closely with Freya. “Not too sound too… _forward_ , but since I _am_ new…maybe you could show me around the city sometime? You look like you know where to have fun here.” Surprise colors Freya’s face, and Amaya instantly straightens. “Oh, you’re not…sorry, I definitely misread that.”

“No, I—” Freya runs a hand through her hair nervously. “No. I don’t think you did.”

A smile slowly spreads across Amaya’s face. “Awesome.”

And despite the fluttering of her heart, a matching smirk light up Freya’s face, too.

 

* * *

 

Hope waves goodbye to Vincent and Rose, who are out the door as soon as the meeting is adjourned. Marcel lingers, collecting a stack of papers regarding property taxes. Hope rounds on him as soon as the others are out of earshot. “Listen—”

“No, I think I’m done listening for the day,” Marcel cuts her off.

Hope lets out a breath of disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re pissed at me.”

Marcel sets his jaw. “You just belittled me in front of them—”

“I don’t have time to deal with your ego, Marcel. If you can’t handle someone else being in charge, you shouldn’t have asked me to do this.” His eyes flash angrily. “Listen, Marcel, I am _trying my best_ here. I never even got to work on a group project in high school, much less lead an underground supernatural government. This is sort of a learn-as-you-go process.”

Nostrils flaring, Marcel jabs a hand into his own chest. “I can lead my vampires without being _ridiculed_ by you.”

“Well apparently not!” Hope throws up her hands in frustration. “I’ve got the wolves feeling threatened and the witches complaining about low tourism and vampires loitering around their shops. I get that you’ve _told_ them to behave themselves, but I’m not seeing the results. I wasn’t kidding earlier: if you can’t get your vampires to be a part of this community we’re trying to establish, I will find someone else who can.”

“And who exactly do you think could do a better job than me? Your family?”

Hope lets out bark of laughter. “God no. My family is way too arrogant for that. No, I think I’d start with Josh and work my way down from there. He seems smarter than your average bear.” She frowns. “That wasn’t, like, a gay pun. Though it would have been brilliant if it was.”

Rolling his eyes, Marcel says, “I’ll reiterate my expectations to my guys, but they’re not going to change overnight.”

“That’s the problem, Marcel. It’s been _months_. If they haven’t fixed themselves by now…I don’t know if they ever will.”

 

* * *

 

The compound is uncharacteristically quiet when River enters, still buzzing with the high of her first day of undergrad. With a grin lighting up her face, she calls out, “Hello?” but is greeted only by her own echo. The smile dims slightly, and River trudges up to the bedroom, trying to ignore the pang of loneliness in her chest.

When she enters the room, she’s surprised to find Hope cross-legged in the center of the bed, surrounded by papers. “Oh, hey!”

“Hey.” Hope doesn’t look up when she replies, eyes locked on what appears to be a map of the French Quarter. Then, a few seconds later, she does a double-take up to look at her girlfriend. “Hey! Sorry, I was…” She gestures helplessly at the papers. “Big meeting today. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, I called up but no one answered.”

“Sorry.” Hope shoves her papers into a haphazard pile and rocks up to a kneel. “So! How was your first day?”

River opens her mouth eagerly, ready to launch into her story, when Hope’s phone buzzes with an incoming call. “Sorry,” she says, snatching it up from the comforter. “It’s Vincent.” She smiles apologetically and presses the phone to her ear. “Hey, listen, can I call you b—” Her face falls as she’s cut off. River watches, worried. “Whoa, whoa, hang on. Say that again?” She listens, and her face grows more and more horrified. Her eyes meet River’s as she whispers, “Yeah, I’m on my way.” She lets the phone fall from her hand and continues to stare wordlessly at her girlfriend.

 

* * *

 

The small sign on the door of the Jardin Gris is flipped to read _Closed_ , but Hope pushes open the door anyway. The magic shop is full to bursting, a circle of French Quarter witches crammed between tables and shelves laden with bobs and ends. Hope gently makes her way through the crowd, freezing when she sees it. “Oh my god.”

There’s a tug at her elbow, and she doesn’t have to look up to know it’s Vincent. “Marcel’s got the one who did it in the back.”

Hope can’t tear her eyes away from the dead witch, head cocked at a perverse angle. The girl’s eyes stare up, seeing nothing. There’s a sob from a few feet away, and Hope manages to look up. There’s another girl, similar in features to the dead one on the ground, with her face buried in her hands as someone else rubs a palm up and down her arm.

Vincent nods to her. “That’s Serena. Her sister. Kid’s only twenty years old, and now the last member of her family is gone.”

Unsticking her feet from the floor, Hope manages to make her way over to Serena, who, after a gentle prod from her friend, looks up to see her. “It was supposed to be better.”

Hope’s brow furrows. “I don’t…”

“Havin’ a witch in charge of this city was supposed to make things better. We were supposed to be safer.” Her jaw clenches. “But they’re still killin’ us.”

Before Hope can even think of an answer, the back door to the store opens, and Marcel leans in, one arm still extended into the alleyway. “Hey,” he says quietly.

Serena pushes past Hope to spit, “You’re lucky you can’t be killed, Marcel Gerard, because you are just as responsible as that trash out there—” She points toward the alley. “—for my sister’s death.”

Marcel hisses, “Maybe if your sister hadn’t tried to kill one of my guys—”

There’s an immediate roar as the gathered witches start hurling insults and accusations toward Marcel. Marcel fires back with a few of his own, and after a minute Hope shouts, “ENOUGH!” Everyone quiets down. “I want everyone involved in whatever happened today—and _only_ those involved—to go to St. James right now. Marcel, you have him?” He nods. “Good. We’ll meet in the basement. Then I want to hear this story from all of you.”

Then she turns and heads for the door, freezing as she passes the body. After a deep breath, she murmurs, “Take her to the City of the Dead. Prepare her body for consecration.” Then she disappears out the front door.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a slow Monday night at St. James, so no one bothers them as, one by one, they slip through a nondescript door and down into the basement, where among cases of bourbon and kegs of Abita, a trial is held. Marcel stands beside the accused, a young vampire with an arrogance about him that immediately puts Hope off. She positions herself at the front of the small room, with Serena, Vincent, and a few other witches off to her right, and Marcel and some of his vampires to her left.

She clears her throat, hoping to disguise her nerves. “Okay, I want to hear from the witches first.”

Serena steps forward, eyes still brimming even as she sets her jaw in anger. “Me and Alessandra were runnin’ the store when Drew and his friends came in.” Drew, the vampire in question, rolls his eyes. “We asked them to leave. They been hangin’ our stores, harassin’ us for weeks. Alessandra had enough. Told ‘em to leave. Drew got right up in her face, told her to make him.” She shrugs one shoulder. “So she started to pull his heart out through his chest.”

“She was going to _kill me_ ,” Drew snaps, and Marcel yanks on his arm to shut him up.

Serena’s eyes flash over to him. “She shoulda killed you, before you _snapped her neck_.”

“I was defending myself!” Drew steps toward Hope. “You gotta believe me, her crazy sister started yanking my heart out. I was going to _die_.”

“We told you to _leave_ ,” Serena insists. “She wasn’t actually gonna kill you, she was just tryin’ to scare you.”

“It sure didn’t feel like that as my heart was _moving through my chest_.”

“Alright,” Hope says with a put-upon sigh. Head throbbing, she pinches the bridge of her nose. She can hear them, the voices offering advice and warnings, but she throws up a wall to keep them at bay. She paces in a small circle, thinking. After a minute, she stops and says, “I believe Drew when he says he acted in self-defense.” Serena’s jaw drops, but Hope presses on. “But I don’t believe killing Alessandra was the appropriate action to take.”

“She was ripping my heart out!” Drew shouts.

“Hope,” Marcel begins, but Hope cuts him off. “We have the system that we have for a reason. Serena, you and your sister should have come to me or Vincent if you had a problem, and instead your sister decided to take matters into her own hands. But Drew did the same thing, and now a woman is dead, and someone has to answer for that.” She draws herself up as tall as she can and says calmly, “I’ve made my decision. Drew Reeves, I sentence you to seventy-five years in the Penitentiary.”

Drew immediately turns to Marcel. “This is insane, tell her this is insane.”

“Quiet,” Marcel says, and he shoves Drew toward Josh, who grabs a hold of Drew’s arm. As Vincent pulls Serena in for a hug, Marcel approaches Hope and mutters, “That was a mistake.”

Hope’s eyes are piercing as she glares up at Marcel. “Maybe the mistake was believing that the vampires of New Orleans could ever live in peace with the rest of us.” She pushes past him, snapping to Josh, “Get him to the Penitentiary, now,” and then stalks up the stairs and out of sight.

 

* * *

 

When Hope hauls herself into her family home, everyone’s waiting for her in the courtyard. Hayley’s the first to approach, worry coloring her expression. “We heard. Are you okay?”

Hope’s swaying on her feet, staring at a spot on the ground a few yards away. “She was just…lying there. Dead.”

Hayley envelopes Hope in a hug, pressing her daughter to her chest. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

From behind them, Klaus calls out, “If you ask me, the witch deserved to die.”

“Well, then, let us be grateful that no one did, in fact, ask you,” Elijah says with a fake smile.

Drink in hand, Klaus starts gesticulating as he speaks. “The witches grow bolder, and it’s up to the vampires to put them in their place. This one tried to kill him, the next might be successful.”

“Nik, have you ever considered shutting up forever?” Rebekah snaps.

Hope extracts herself from her mother’s arms and wipes at her eyes. “I think I’m just going to go to bed.” She heads for the stairs, avoiding eye contact with the rest of her family.

River abandons her spot next to Freya to follow her. Once they’re behind their closed bedroom door, River asks, “Are you okay?”

Already disrobing, Hope says dismissively, “I’m fine, River. It was just a long day.”

“It’s your head again, isn’t it?” Hope tenses, but doesn’t look at her. “Hope, you can’t keep hiding this from them. They need to know.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, pulling an oversized T-shirt over her head. “I just need to sleep this shit day off.”

Instead of fighting, River watches her girlfriend crawl into bed, pulling the comforter completely over her head.

 

* * *

 

Tucked into the sharp angles of shadow across the street, a man stands hidden from view. He watches through windows and balcony doors as the ancient family moves through its night, separating and coming together in the many rooms of the Abattoir. He sees the outline of the witch sister, bent over a desk as she studies something, and the hazy shadows of the eldest brother and the wolf mother, heads tipped together in quiet communion. He stands there for hours, until even the streets of New Orleans have grown silent, and finally, he retreats, stealing away into the night, the light from a neon sign only just catching the long, thick scar along the side of his neck, and the sharpened stake hidden cleverly into the sleeve of his jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two, episode two, "In the Wrong Place and at the Wrong Time," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	16. Season Two, Episode Two: In the Wrong Place and at the Wrong Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode contains two musical cues. When you come upon a hyperlinked phrase, please click the link to be taken to a YouTube video that will play a song chosen to accompany that scene.

Klaus is a man on a mission, walking briskly through the compound with a look of intent on his face. He’s just about make his way down into the courtyard when a voice stops him. “Dad?”

He turns to see his daughter approaching, smiling nervously. “Hope?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He frowns. “Could it wait, luv? I’m in a bit of rush.”

“It’s just—I really want to take my girlfriend out on a date, you know, because I love her and she moved away from her home to be with me and she’s basically the greatest person I’ve ever met, but I don’t know where to go. In town. On a date.” She wrinkles her nose. “I know this is awkward, but if you have any, like, recommendations…”

“Absolutely not.”

Taken aback by the strong response, Hope says slowly, “Okay…I figured you’d know an art gallery or something, but I guess I could always just ask Rebekah.”

Klaus sighs. “No, I mean…” He steps closer and puts his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “You can’t go on a date with River.”

Hope looks askance. “It’s 2030, Dad. Girls have been able to date each other for a long time.”

“I’ve gotten word that the vampires are quite…distressed by your decision to send one of their own to the Penitentiary. It is unsafe for you to be out without protection.”

“Um, I’m a witch, and River has a moonlight ring now. We’re hardly unprotected.”

“Hope, I—” Klaus squeezes her shoulder and then lets go, his arm falling to his side. “It’s too dangerous.” He turns and walks away.

“Hang on!” He turns back around. Bouncing earnestly on the balls of her feet, Hope asks, “Could you guys, I don’t know, clear out for a night, then? It’s hard to be romantic with your girlfriend when you have the world’s biggest family cramping your style.”

Klaus’s eyes flick upward as if begging some deity for patience, and then he sighs, “Fine. Your mother, your aunts, your uncle, and I will find an elsewhere to be tonight.”

Hope beams. “Thanks, Dad!” Then she disappears through a door, and Klaus gives a small shake of his head before going down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

In a familiar, darkened bar, Josh sits alone, three glasses into a bottle of Jack. His phone keeps buzzing in his pocket, incoming texts from Marcel, but he’s ignoring them, just like he’s been doing all week. There’s some slow blues song playing overhead, easy enough to tune out. Less easy to ignore are the quiet voices in conversation on the opposite side of the room, past the pool tables and jukebox. Josh can’t help himself; he focuses just a little, and suddenly he can here the small group of vampires as if they were sitting right next to him.

“It’s bullshit,” one says. “Just bullshit.”

“Bitch is like what, seventeen? The hell she knows about right and wrong, about _justice_?” There’s the clink of ice in a thick-bottomed glass.

“That witch bitch was trying to kill him,” the first voice argues. “And he’s not allowed to protect himself?”

“Marcel never woulda let this shit happen if he was still in charge,” a new voice adds.

The first voice again. “Man, screw Marcel. He just rolled over for a kid. Not that that’s new.”

“At least Davina Claire wasn’t a damn Mikaelson.”

“ _Or_ a Crescent.”

“This whole new system is just bullshit.” The first voice sighs. “We were all better off back when _we_ were in charge, when the wolves were off in the sticks and the witches knew their place. Now we’re all supposed to bow down to some kid who don’t know shit?” He scoffs. “Bullshit.”

“Bullshit,” a few other voices echo.

Josh lets the voices fade away, focuses back on the drink in his hand. He knows he should shut them up, should let them know exactly what happens to those who question Marcel Gerard. But he’s tired, and three glasses deep, and his phone keeps buzzing, and so he just lets it all go.

 

* * *

 

River steps into the courtyard and freezes. “Um…” She looks up in wonder at the yards of fairy lights wound around the courtyard, casting everything in a warm, soft glow. She lets her backpack fall to the ground with a thud. “Hello?”

“Hey!” River looks over to see Hope coming out of the kitchen, her hands behind her back. She’s dressed in a massively oversized Tulane sweatshirt and a pair of boyshorts. “Welcome home!”

River lets out a little laugh. “What is going on? Where is everyone?”

“It’s date night, so I kicked ‘em out.” Hope’s smile is playful.

“Date night?”

“Mhm. We’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”

“If it’s date night, why are you in pajamas?”

“Because it’s not just any date night. It’s a River and Hope date night. And you know what that means.”

River’s eyes narrow. “Getting drunk and dancing to Beyoncé in our underwear?”

Hope’s grin widens, and she reveals the two glasses of wine she’s been hiding behind her back. Stretching one out to her girlfriend, she replies, “Getting drunk and dancing our _asses_ off to Beyoncé in our underwear.”

River takes the glass. “God I love redheads.” She downs her glass in one giant swig and then sets it down so she can yank her shirt over her head.

 

* * *

 

When Freya pushes open the door to Rousseau’s, already packed with half-drunk tourists, her eyes immediately find Amaya’s. She smiles, and the bartender beams in return. “Hey!”

Freya finds a clear spot and takes a seat at the bar. “Hope you’re not too busy for one more.”

“For you?” There’s something mischievous about Amaya’s smirk. “Never.” She snags a bottle of tequila and pours a shot. “Glad you came back. I could use a local face among all these out-of-towners.”

“You’re an out-of-towner yourself,” Freya argues, handing opening for the shot glass Amaya slides to her.

“True.” Amaya takes a credit card from a customer and begins to tap on a tablet. “But at least I know not to party like one.”

“Fair enough.” Freya knocks the shot back easily. “So, how were your classes this week?”

“Oh, boring.” After handing the card back to the customer, she refills Freya’s shot. “Mostly reading so far, which is to be expected while studying linguistic anthropology.”

Freya makes a sympathetic noise. “This is why I gave up on my education a long time ago.”

“Not like you need it.” Freya tilts her head in confusion, and Amaya begins to chew on her lip. “Okay, I may have asked around about you. Cute girl with a huge family who can drop a hundred-dollar tip on a couple of glasses of vodka?” She shrugs. “I was curious.”

Freya studies her shot glass very carefully. “And what did you find out?”

“Mostly just that the Mikaelson family is a force to be reckoned with in New Orleans, and apparently, if I know what’s good for me, I’ll stay far, far away.” Freya’s eyes flick up in surprise. Amaya’s staring back at her, gaze unwavering. “But I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.”

“No.” Freya downs her second shot, eyes still locked with Amaya’s. “No, nor am I.”

 

* * *

 

[River’s on the first-floor balcony](http://bit.ly/pr2x02-1), her fourth glass of rosé in hand, gripping the rail as she works her way low to the ground. Hope’s spelled her phone so that the music is blasting throughout the compound without the aid of a stereo. Hope herself is on the edge of the fountain, her empty wine glass beside her as she twists and rocks to the beat. She crooks a finger at her girlfriend, and after polishing off her glass, River hurls herself over the railing to land gracefully on her feet, barely shaken. Hope wolf-whistles, and River takes a bow. Then she dances over to Hope, and the two throw their arms around each other, pressed close together as they dance.

Then Hope pulls away, hopping down from the fountain and dancing away. She’s moving backward, smiling a playful smile back at her girlfriend. She backs up toward the entryway, and turns to motion for River to follow her—and then there’s a low _thwap_ sound, and she freezes.

Facing the dark entryway, Hope slowly looks down. Sticking out from her stomach is an arrow, blood already dripping from its shaft. Eyes impossibly wide, Hope look back up, where she can barely make out a figure shrouded in shadow. She turns her head to look at River, and then she collapses to the ground.

With an ear-piercing scream, River bolts over to her girlfriend. “Hope, oh my god, Hope!” She crashes to her knees, hands shaking as she tries to assess the wound. “What the—” River looks up and sees the man standing in the entryway. “What the hell?”

That’s when the man turns and runs, heading for the open gate. River’s too stunned to move, but as the man turns the corner to disappear onto the street, she notices a long, curved scar along the side of his neck.

 

* * *

 

[Elijah’s back is straight](http://bit.ly/pr2x02-2) as he sits at a rickety wooden table. He can barely hear himself think through the impossibly loud twang of banjos and guitars; the country bar around him is wall-to-wall with flannel shirts and steel-toed boots, and he has never felt more out of place in his thousand-year existence. He watches the bar patrons with a look of mild interest on his face, as if he were a sociologist observing a foreign population.

Hayley bounces back from the bar with two glasses and a full bottle of Jim Beam in her hands. She’s at least dressed more appropriately for the venue; unlike Elijah, who rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and left the suit jacket at home, Hayley’s wearing cut-off jean shorts and a form-fitting blue flannel shirt with the top three buttons undone. “Drink up,” she says, slamming the alcohol onto the table. Elijah’s eyes widen as the wood creaks dangerously. “I have a feeling you’re going to need this a lot more than I do.”

“When I said I wanted to take you out for an evening, I have to say that I did not imagine…” His eyes wander until they fall on two large men shotgunning PBR Tallboys in the corner. “…this.”

“Don’t be so elitist, Elijah.” Hayley pours them a few fingers each. “It’s time you expanded your horizons a little.”

“Hayley, I have been to every country and continent on this earth, I have sampled every cuisine, I have studied countless subjects at universities throughout time. My distaste for this… _music_ and the stench of tobacco isn’t elitism. It’s self-preservation.”

Hayley rolls her eyes. “You know you didn’t have to come.”

“No no.” Elijah throws a hand up in surrender, spinning his glass of whiskey. “I asked you to pick the place. Not _quite_ sure why you chose this particular venue…”

“Mostly to see that uncomfortable look on your face.” Hayley grins.

“At least one of us is having fun.”

“C’mon.” She knocks back her drink and stands up. “Let’s dance.”

Elijah’s eyebrows raise in disbelief. “Are _you_ asking _me_ to dance?”

“Well, I got you into a bar with a singing fish on the wall, so apparently tonight’s the night for miracles. Are you coming or what?”

Elijah looks at her proffered hand for a moment before letting out a deep sigh and taking it. He allows himself to be dragged into a small throng of dancers. Hayley immediately pulls Elijah in by the belt loops, and he obliges by settling his hands on her waist. Hayley starts to dance, tugging Elijah’s hips to the beat of the song. Her hand snakes up to the back of his neck, and she brings his face closer to hers. Her body moves easily to the music, much more familiar with the stylings of country than Elijah’s. After a verse, though, he gets into it, letting himself sway with her, keeping her close to him as the bass pumps.

“See?” Hayley says into his ear. “This is fun.”

“ _You’re_ fun,” Elijah clarifies, and Hayley throws her head back and laughs.

Just as the song is reaching its end, Hayley’s phone buzzes in her back pocket. She steps away, Elijah’s hand chasing her hip, and pulls it out. “That’s weird. It’s River.” She frowns and puts the phone to her ear. “River?” Her eyes blow wide, mouth falling agape as she looks up at Elijah in horror.

 

* * *

 

Elijah bursts through the bedroom door, Hope’s unconscious body in his arms. Hayley and River are right behind him, flying to the opposite side of the bed as he lays her atop the comforter. He wraps his hand around the shaft of the arrow protruding grotesquely from her abdomen, and River just manages to flinch away before he yanks it out and tosses it aside. Then he rips at his own wrist with his teeth and presses it to her lips.

“Come on, Hope,” Hayley breathes, pulling River into her arms.

Elijah pulls his arm away, leaving a smear of dark blood across her still lips. He peels back the torn, bloody fabric of her sweatshirt and curses “She’s not healing.”

Hayley snatched the discarded arrow up from Hope’s bed and sniffs the tip. “Vervaine,” she snarls. “Bastard thought she was a vampire.”

“But why isn’t she _healing_?” River cries. “You—you gave her your blood, she should be healing.”

“I don’t know,” Elijah says, too still. “I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

Hope wakes up with a gasp. She’s in her bedroom, lying atop the made bed. A hand presses automatically to her stomach; her fingers catch on the hole in her sweatshirt, but there is no arrow—no pain, either.

She swings her feet onto the floor, and notices for the first time that the world seems off. The colors of her room seem washed out, as if she were standing in an old photograph. There’s no sound; even her own breath is utterly silent. She pads to the door, planning to explore the compound, when a voice calls out, “Hello, Hope.”

Hope whips around in surprise. “Oh my god!”

There’s a woman standing by her balcony, smiling apologetically. She’s wearing a long, white dress, and her flaxen hair falls to her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Her voice is soft, and oddly familiar. “I only wish to talk.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Hope says. “Where am I?”

“You are where the ancestors dwell.”

“The ancestors? Then I…” Her hand presses against where her wound should be once more. “…Am I dead?”

“Not quite. I am holding you here only long enough for us to have a conversation.”

“A conversation about _what_?”

The woman quirks an eyebrow. “You’ve been ignoring us, Hope Mikaelson. It’s time you listened.”

 

* * *

 

Hayley’s back is against the headboard, Hope’s head cradled in her lap. Klaus rushes into the room, eyes wild. “What happened?” He kneels beside his daughter’s bed, gently taking her hand into his.

Across the room, River, now wrapped in a blanket, stands with Rebekah and Freya, each still dressed in the outfits they wore for their respective nights out on the town. The sisters have an arm each around the shaking girl. River sniffs loudly. “He shot her. He just…came in and shot her.” Rebekah runs a soothing hand up and down her arm.

Klaus suddenly appears in front of River, towering over her. “Who was he?”

River recoils in fear, and Rebekah scolds, “She is not to blame for this, Nik! Leave her be!”

“Quiet, Rebekah,” Klaus snaps. Then, to River, “What did you see?”

Voice barely above a whisper, River says, “He was in shadow, so I couldn’t see much, but…he had a scar, on his neck.” She traces a long line along the column of her own neck with a finger. “It reflected the light form the lamp outside. I saw it as he ran.”

Klaus stares at her for a long moment, as if doubting her truthfulness. Then he twists away, storming back toward his daughter. “Why isn’t she healing?”

“She _is_ part vampire,” Freya says. “If the arrow was laced with vervaine…”

“He must have been coming for one of us,” Elijah proposes, hand on Hayley’s shoulder. “He must have thought she was a vampire herself.”

Everyone is quite for a moment, mulling that thought over. Then Klaus argues, “Vervaine doesn’t explain why the wound hasn’t healed. She’s not a full vampire, and Elijah fed her his blood.”

“Let me try something.” Freya crosses the room and perches on the edge of the bed beside her niece. She grabs Hope’s hand and closes her eyes in concentration. After a minute, “I can feel her. She’s still in there but…” She opens her eyes. “It’s faint. As if she’s miles away.”

Klaus takes her other hand. “Come back to us, Hope.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m not ignoring anyone,” Hope argues, the bed between her and the woman in white.

“We can feel you pushing us out, Hope. We chose you to be an Advocate, not to put up a wall between us.”

“But _you_ chose _me_ ,” Hope insists. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“The ancestors chose you for this task because of the goodness we saw in you. We believe that you more than any witch in this city can listen to our concerns and make the right choices for our living descendants.”

“And that’s flattering, honestly, but that doesn’t change the fact that having centuries of dead witches in my head is driving me crazy.”

“Because you aren’t _listening_.” The woman’s voice becomes exasperated. “We are trying to talk to you, to share our concerns, to warn you!”

“Warn me? Warn me about what?”

The woman sighs. “There is a new danger in New Orleans.”

“Yeah, I sort of guessed when I got shot.”

Unimpressed by the quip, the woman continues, “The threat comes from outside the city, but it will consume our communities, setting them aflame from the inside.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Hope says. “Could you, I don’t know, get more specific?”

“We only see what we see. We will tell you in the future if you stop shutting us out.”

“I’ll try my best.”

The woman turns her head as if listening to a far-off sound. “It is time for you to return. Much longer with us and you shall remain here forever.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” Hope walks around the bed to the woman. “But, um. Thanks for the warning.”

“Of course, Hope Mikaelson.” The woman raises her hand. “Oh, and Hope? If you could, I’d like you to pass a message to my son.” Then she gently taps Hope’s forehead, and the world dissolves into bright white light.

 

* * *

 

Hope jerks upright, gasping and clawing for something stable. She catches her mother’s arm, which pulls her in tight to her chest. Everyone closes in; River tears herself away from Rebekah and rushes to the bed. “Hope!”

Hayley presses her face into Hope’s hair. “Are you okay?”

Breath slowing, Hope reaches down and feels the wound in her abdomen. It’s completely healed over. “I’m fine,” she whispers. “I’m fine.” Everyone gives a sigh of relief.

“You’ve healed,” Klaus says, staring in awe at where the wound had just been.

“Where did you go?”

Hope looks up at Freya, and knows exactly what she means. “I saw her.”

Klaus squeezes her hand. “Saw who, luv?”

Hope looks at her father and gives him a sad smile. “She wanted me to tell you that I was the greatest gift…a son could give his mother.”

 

* * *

 

Marcel’s strolling down Chartres Street, whistling an old jazz standard, when all of a sudden he’s flying through an alleyway. He lands with an oomph on his back, and in a blink there’s a stiletto heel at his throat. He looks up, a half-smile on his face. “You’re still hot when you’re angry.”

“What have you done?” Rebekah snarls.

Marcel lefts his hands in mock surrender. “Look, whatever you think I did—”

“Someone put an arrow in my niece tonight.” Marcel’s face falls. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Hell, Rebekah.” He shoves her foot away from this neck. “Is she okay?”

“She’s alive, if that’s your concern.”

Marcel hops easily to his feet, stepping out of Rebekah’s range. “So, what, you’re mad at me for this?”

“Every vampire in the Quarter has been angry at Hope since she sent what’s-his-name to the Penitentiary.”

Marcel narrows his eyes. “His name is Drew, and they may be pissed at her but they’d never hurt her.”

“Wouldn’t they?” she argues. “She’s not a child, so she doesn’t fall under your protection.”

“She is the leader of this city, and while I may not have agreed with her decision, I did agree to follow her, and the vampires follow me.”

“Do they?”

Marcel steps up to get into Rebekah’s face. “Yes. They do.”

“Then find out who did this,” Rebekah spits, “before Nik finds a way to blame this on you.” She spins and storms away, adding over her shoulder, “Before he figures out a way to kill you.”

 

* * *

 

Hope lays asleep on her bed, dressed in fresh, not-bloodied pajamas. Her father sits beside her, her hand in his.

From just over his shoulder, Elijah murmurs, “Are we to trust our mother’s warning of some great threat?”

“I am naturally suspicious of anything that harpy says, especially when my daughter almost died to hear it.”

“You’re naturally suspicious of everything, Niklaus.”

Klaus rolls his eyes. “One thing is for certain: there is a threat in this city, and tonight it came for my daughter.”

Elijah eyes his brother. “Are you considering taking her away?”

“I imagine she would rather die than leave this city.” He rubs his thumb over the knuckles. “We are alike in this.”

“Her wishes haven’t stopped you in the past.”

“Yes, well…” Klaus brushes a strand of hair off of Hope’s face. “Perhaps her courage should be an inspiration to her father, not something to be feared.”

“Yes,” Elijah agrees, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She is an inspiration to us all.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two, episode three, "Here Comes the Rain and the Thunder," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	17. Season Two, Episode Three: Here Comes the Rain and the Thunder

Hope wakes up slowly, bleary-eyed and sore. She blinks against the late morning light streaming through the balcony doors and sees a familiar form in a chair beside her bed, a thick textbook open in her lap. “Hey.”

River looks up, startled. “You’re awake!”

“Apparently.” Hope pushes herself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly. She nods toward the book. “What’s that?”

“Oh.” River closes the book and hefts it into the air. “Biology.”

Hope wrinkles her nose. “Gross.”

River chuckles, then asks, “How are you feeling?”

Prodding the spot where an arrow had been less than twenty-four hours earlier, Hope shrugs and answers, “The wound is completely healed over, but something about being shot takes a lot out of you, y’know?”

“Yeah, I bet.” River abandons the textbook on the floor and slides onto the bed next to her girlfriend, taking up her hand. “Last night really scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry I’m so bad at date night.” Hope tips her head onto River’s shoulder.

River breathes a laugh. “Yeah, you owe me big time.”

A blonde head pokes through the door. “Look who’s awake!”

Hope twists her head to look up at her aunt. “Alive and kickin’.”

“Just the way we like you.” Rebekah enters the room fully. “Feeling rested?”

“I mean, I’d never say no to more sleep, but yeah.” She tugs at her lip with her teeth. “Any news on, you know. Who shot me?”

Rebekah’s smile falls. “Ah. Yes.” She sits carefully on the edge of the bed. “We don’t yet know who exactly did this, but…” She trails off.

“What?” Hope askes, worried. “What, what is it?”

“It’s the witches.” Hope turns to look at River. “The witches think the vampires did this. Payback for putting one of their own in the Penitentiary. They’ve been…they’ve been upset.”

Hope’s face is grave. “What’s happening?”

“War,” Rebekah sighs. “This city is on the brink of war.”

 

* * *

 

River trudges through the bayou, swatting gnats away from her face. Her leg catches on a kudzu vine, but she tears free easily. She stumbles into a familiar clearing, hands already tugging at the hem of her shirt. She’s down to her underwear when she hears a voice call, “You know there’s no moon, right?”

River’s head snaps up to see Rose, casually leaned against a tree on the opposite side of the clearing, munching on an apple. “I know when the moon is.”

“And yet here you are. Turning.”

River narrows her eyes. “My girlfriend got shot yesterday, I have no idea who did it, and the Quarter is about to tear itself apart. So yeah, I need to just _not be_ for a little bit.”

Rose shrugs. “Hey, I’m not gonna stop you. ‘Specially since you’ve got that ring on.”

“Thanks.” Then Rose watches calmly as the girl tears herself into a beast, bones crackling as a wolf appears in the clearing. She takes a hunk out of her apple as the wolf stretches its limbs. The wolf pads over to her, and Rose jerks her head toward the woods. “Go.” The wolf huffs once and then tears off, a dark blur between the trees.

 

* * *

 

**South of Mt. Nimba, Côte d’Ivoire**

Backpack slung over one shoulder, Kol Mikaelson walks through a thick grove of evergreens, ducking under branches until his path dumps him into a small village. There’s a large circle of wooden huts, with an open area in the center where a few dozen people mill about. They all look up as Kol approaches, instantly suspicious.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” he calls with a small wave. “ _Je cerche le Sabbat de Nimba._ ” **[Hello. I’m looking for the Nimba Coven.]**

A large man with a piercing gaze steps up to Kol. “ _Nous ne voulons pas de votre genre ici_.” **[We don’t want your kind here.]**

“ _Je ne veux pas causer de problèmes_ ,” Kol says placatingly. “ _J'étais un sorcier une fois, comme toi_.” **[I do not wish to cause trouble. I was a witch once, just like you.]**

“ _Et alors?_ ” **[So what?]**

Kol extends a hand. “ _J'ai besoin de votre aide_.” **[I need your help.]**

Cautiously, the coven elder presses his palm to Kol’s, and a barrage of visions washes over him. He sees a young woman with hair like fire, and city of stone that houses the dead. He snatches his hand back, and those standing behind him shift nervously. The elder regards Kol with a grave expression. “ _Vous souhaitez rencontrer notre Avocat_.” **[You wish to meet our Advocate.]**

“ _Tout à fait_.” **[Very much so.]**

“ _Alors viens_.” The elder turns and begins to walk away. “ _Il y a beaucoup à voir_.” **[Then come. There is much to see.]**

 

* * *

 

Marcel turns off of Dauphine Street into a narrow alley lit by a single flickering bulb. He approaches his friend from behind and claps him on the back. “Why’d you call, Josh?”

Josh doesn’t answer, so Marcel follows his gaze down the alley, where a body lays ungracefully, a long, thick piece of wood protruding from his chest. Marcel’s entire demeanor shifts. “What the hell happened?”

Josh shrugs. “I just found him like this. They left him here. Whoever killed him just…left him here.”

Marcel runs his hand over his face. “Who did this?”

“Who do you think did this, Marcel?” Josh snaps. “The witches have been at our throats since someone attacked Hope Mikaelson.”

“No.” Marcel shakes his head stubbornly. “No, that wasn’t us, and they know it wasn’t us. They know I would never let—”

“They don’t care!” Josh gestures angrily toward his fallen comrade. “They killed him in cold blood because _some_ vampire _might_ have shot their Advocate.”

Marcel stares at the nightwalker’s body for a long moment, taking a few deep breaths. Then he whips around and says to Josh, “Alright. Call…call Sarah or…or Luca or somebody. Bring him to the bar. We’ll lay him to rest.” He marches toward the street.

“Where are you going?” Josh calls after him.

“To have a word with the regent.”

 

* * *

 

Hope stands alone on her balcony, watching the passersby on the street below. There’s a lone trumpeter two blocks down, putting a contemporary twist on an old Armstrong classic. Sun on her face, she lets her eyes slide shut as listens, following the playful melody as it dances on the warm breeze.

Then, without warning, an electric pain sings through her head. Her eyes screw tight, and she clutches at her head. A thousand voices are shouting at once, and she can barely make out individual words— _vampire—guilt—death—justice—blame—listen—_

Hope’s knuckles are white as she grips the rail, her body bent forward in agony. Through the cacophony of dead witches’ voices, she focuses what little energy she can summon to create a magical barrier between her own thoughts and the onslaught of sound. The voices dull to a faint hum in the background, and Hope lets out a slow breath. Her eyes flutter open, and she looks over at the trumpeter, who, oblivious to her entirely, continues to play.

 

* * *

 

Kol follows the tall man to a hut on the very far edge of the village, far from the prying eyes of the community. The elder has to duck to enter the tiny space, and he returns just moments later with a stout woman with an unwelcome expression. “ _Qui est-ce?_ ” she demands of the elder. **[Who is this?]**

“ _Un visiteur d’une terre lointaine_ ,” the elder explains. “ _Il a besoin de la voir._ ” **[A visitor from a far-off land. He needs to see her.]**

“ _Absolument pas_ ,” the woman argues with a shake of her head. “ _Elle est trop faible pour les visiteurs._ ” **[Absolutely not. She is too weak for visitors.]**

Kol steps forward. “ _S’il vous plait, je viens en apprendre advantage sur votre Avocat. J’essaie d’aider quelqu’un de très important pour moi_.” **[Please, I come to learn about your Advocate. I am trying to help someone very important to me.]**

“ _Invitez-le_ ,” the elder says gruffly. **[Invite him in.]**

The woman’s eyes narrow, but she says begrudgingly, “ _Vous pouvez entrer._ ” **[You may enter.]** Then she spins around and reenters the hut. The coven elder motions for Kol to follow her, and he does, ducking through the low door. When he straightens, he sees a single mat rolled out onto the hard floor, and a petite, frail body curled atop it. The girl twitches slightly, eyes screwed shut in pain.

The woman sits on the floor beside the girl, resting a hand atop her head. “ _C’est ma fille. Elle est notre Avocate_.” **[This is my daughter. She is our Advocate.]**

Kol watches as the girl, mostly skin and bones, takes in shallow, labored breaths. “ _Est-elle malade_?” **[Is she sick?]**

“ _Elle est malade dans son âme_ ,” the elder says quietly. “ _Les voix de nos ancêtres l’ont rendue folle_.” **[She is sick in her soul. The voices of our ancestors have driven her mad.]**

Kol’s eyes widen in horror as he watches the girl twist and moan, clutching at her head as if her hands were the only things holding it together.

 

* * *

 

By the time River approaches Rose on Mary’s front porch, the sun in already on its descent, casting elongated shadows over the little house. She sits on the step beside the alpha, staring out through the trees. “I needed that.”

“Gets itchy sometimes, doesn’t it?” River side-eyes Rose. “The wolf. Can feel it clawing at you from the inside, trying to get out.”

“Yeah. The anger doesn’t help.”

“Rarely if ever.”

They sit in silence, watching the sun flicker through the trees. Then River says, “You know, the offer still stands.”

“I don’t want it.” Rose doesn’t hesitate in her response.

“I didn’t realize being an alpha required being a martyr—”

Rose shoves off of the porch, striding away from River. “Hey, you know what?” She spins around and snaps, “You don’t know anything _about_ being an alpha, so maybe mind your own business.”

“What is your problem?” River asks, standing up. “Hope’s offering you the chance to control your turning, not some deal with the devil.”

“Isn’t it though?” Rose mutters, mostly to herself.

“Do you have a problem with Hope? Because she got shot yesterday and I really don’t think—”

“Hope’s fine. Hope’s…” She sighs and crosses her arms. “It’s just…”

“Hayley.” Rose doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to. “You’re still pissed at Hayley.”

Rose works her jaw. “I am still trying to clean up the mess she made when she left. Half this pack—what’s left of it—doesn’t trust me, Marcel and Vincent don’t respect me, and too many people think that because the _great Hayley Marshall_ is back in town with that birthmark on her shoulder, suddenly she’s in charge.”

“No one thinks she’s in charge, Rose,” River insists. “ _You’re_ the Crescent alpha.”

“Yeah, I _am_ the alpha. And I can’t look at my broken pack, beaten down and terrified, without thinking of what we were like before she abandoned us.”

River’s shoulders drop. She walks over to Rose and stands beside her. “I’m sorry she hurt this pack like that. I’m sorry that you were the only one willing to pick up the pieces. But I don’t see why you have to suffer every full moon because of it.”

“When I turn…” Rose takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “When I turn, yeah, it’s hell. But I feel…connected. To nature, to my pack…to myself. The pain of turning…it’s the price I pay for being a Crescent.” She twists her head to stare at River. “And I think it’s worth it.”

 

* * *

 

Hope is sitting at the dining room table, picking slowly at a bread roll. She’s so deep in thought that she’s more tearing the roll apart than actually eating it, as very few of the pieces actually end up in her mouth. She’s nearly managed to reduce the thing to a pile of fluff when a quiet voice interrupts her reverie. “Penny for your thoughts?”

She looks up in surprise to see her father standing in the archway, hands behind his back. “Hey. Just, uh. Thinking. What’s up?”

Klaus’s eyes dart away, avoiding her gaze. “There is something you should know.”

Hope’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What’s wrong?” Then Vincent comes into view, just behind Klaus’s shoulder, and Hope’s face falls. “Oh god.”

“One of Marcel’s nightwalkers was found dead,” Vincent says solemnly. “Staked in an alley off Dauphine.”

Hope stands up and grips her chair back. “That’s what they were talking about,” she sighs, mostly to herself.

Klaus tilts his head. “That’s what who were talking about?”

Ignoring him, Hope asks of Vincent, “Who?”

The question stumps Vincent. “Who killed him?”

“Who _died_ , Vincent.”

“Oh.” Vincent rubs his hands together. “I haven’t spoken to Marcel yet but—”

“Was it a witch?”

“Now hang on—”

“Did you think I wouldn’t hear, Vincent?” Hope snaps. “The witches _decided_ that a vampire shot me before they even let me tell them what happened. So when a vampire shows up dead, I know where _I’m_ pointing a finger first.”

“There are hundreds of witches in all nine covens, I have no way of knowing—”

“It’s your job to know!” Vincent falls silent. “Find who did this. Talk to every single witch if you have to. This city is reaching its breaking point, Vincent, and…I can’t watch it burn over me.”

Vincent nods, shoots Klaus a look, and walks away. Klaus, in turn, approaches his daughter. Softly, he says, “If you’d like my advice—”

“No offense, Dad?” She looks up at him. “If you’re going to say I should respond with fire and fury…just don’t.”

“The witches are using what happened to you as an excuse to exact revenge over the girl killed in the Jardin Gris, and you cannot let them get away with it.”

“I’m not doing _anything_ until I have answers, Dad!” Hope pinches the bridge of her nose, suddenly feeling far older than eighteen. “This is insane. The witches _know_ better, especially after what happened with Alessandra.”

“Who?”

She shoots her father a withering glare. “The witch murdered in the Jardin Gris.”

“Ah, yes.” Klaus claps his hands together. “Well, the witches of this city never were particularly bright.”

“You’re not _helping_ , Dad.” Hope pushes past him to leave, but he snags her arm and tugs her back. “Listen to me,” he says quietly. “This will only get worse before it gets better.”

“I _know_ that—”

“I have seen this city descend into chaos over far less than the near loss of a community leader. If war does befall New Orleans—”

“It _won’t_ —”

“— _if it does_ …you will protect yourself before anyone else. Do you understand me?”

Hope looks at her father as if seeing him for the first time. “See, that’s the difference between you and me, Dad. You say you love this city, but I’m willing to die for it. Are you?” She jerks her arm away from her father and leaves him standing speechless behind her.

 

* * *

 

It takes the better part of the day, but Vincent is just about to enter Lafayette Cemetery when his path is suddenly blocked by a pissed-off Marcel. “Look—”

Marcel raises a hand to cut him off, a vein popping in his forehead. “His name was Brady.”

Vincent puts his hands up in an attempt to calm Marcel. “I been all over this city today, Marcel, ain’t nobody know anything about your boy gettin’ killed.”

“Who else would kill him?” Marcel shouts. “Y’all have been up in arms since Hope got shot!”

“Because they think a vampire did it!”

“ _Well it wasn’t us!_ ”

“And this wasn’t us either!”

The two men glare at each other, panting angrily. Then Marcel growls, “If I find out that one of your witches killed one of my nightwalkers…I won’t be able to stop them from tearing the Quarter apart. And I don’t know that I’d want to.”

Vincent steps up, gets right in Marcel’s face. “One of your vampires _did_ kill one of my witches, and if another one decided to retaliate, I don’t know that I’d want them to see justice.”

“So this is about Drew now?”

“Man, it’s about all of it! Alessandra and Hope and the loitering in our shops and the threats against our families! You say you want a community here, you talk a big game—it’s time to actually step up and _do_ something!”

“Well dead vampires don’t exactly inspire community building.”

“The live ones ain’t doin’ such a good job, neither.”

Marcel narrows his eyes. “Keep your witches in check, and I’ll do the same. Sound good?”

“Sounds like the best we’re gonna get, but yeah. Sounds good.”

 

* * *

 

Josh finds himself in the vampire hangout bar once again, spinning his whiskey glass round and round between his fingers. The atmosphere is heavy, with quiet conversation barely audible over the jukebox music. Most of the vampires are vacillating between anger and despair, each mourning their lost friend in their own way.

Until Ricky, a relatively new vampire with a loud mouth, stands up and barks, “Is this it? Is this how we respond to one of us _dying_?”

“Cool it, Ricky,” Josh says in a flat voice, not even looking up from his drink.

Ricky turns to face Josh, all eyes in the bar on him. “Man, I ain’t gonna _cool it_ ‘cause you and Marcel and the Mikaelsons want me to _cool it_. First Drew goes to the Penitentiary and now this? Now Brady? Bullshit.”

“Who says the Mikaelsons want you to cool it?” All heads snap to the door to the bar, where Klaus Mikaelson leans against the doorframe. He shrugs. “If anything, now is the time to let things get…heated.”

Ricky lifts his chin in challenge. “The hell you talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Well.” He lopes into the center of the bar, crooked smile on his face. “I’ve never made secret my distaste for the witches of New Orleans. And now more than ever it seems that _we_ …” He gestures broadly to the room. “…are in agreement on this point.”

With a curious tilt of his head, Ricky asks, “So what, you want us to clap back at the witches? Ain’t they loyal to your kid?”

“Those witches put my daughter’s life in danger the minute they made her their Advocate. If they’re all dead…” He smiles widens. “…there will no one to whom my daughter can advocate.”

“Okay, stop.” Klaus’s face colors with surprise as he turns to see Josh, now standing and facing the confrontation. “Marcel would never be okay with this. What you’re talking about is genocide.”

“Marcel Gerard has never had a problem with cultural genocide in the past,” Klaus argues. “What’s a little _actual_ genocide in the grand scheme of things?”

“Ricky, don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to start shit to start shit.”

Ricky’s eyes dart back and forth between Klaus and Josh. They finally settle on Klaus. “Man’s got a point,” he says to Josh. Then he steps up to Klaus and smirks. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

 

* * *

 

In the dark, Amaya fumbles with her apartment key. It takes her three tries to unlock her door, her nametag hanging loose on her button-down shirt. She finally pushes her way inside, bone-tired and ready to sleep until her class in the morning. She tosses her bag onto the nearest chair and kicks off her shoes. Each one clunks heavily onto the floor, but then there’s a third thunk that freezes her. Eyes suddenly very wide, she listens, ears probing the silence for any other sound.

After a minute, she relaxes her shoulders, sure she imagined the strange sound. Her fingers come up to begin unbuttoning her shirt, when there’s a creak from down the hall. “Oh my god,” she breathes, and grabs her phone. The flashlight flicks to life, and she shines it down toward her bedroom, where she sees nothing. “Hello?” she calls, stepping forward tentatively. “I have mace!”

There’s another creak, this time right behind her. With a sharp gasp, she whips around and shines the light right into someone’s face. He grabs her arm, and she shouts, struggling against his grasp—

—and then he says, “Maya, Maya, calm down! It’s me!”

Amaya stops fighting and looks up. “Joel?”

“Yeah.” He cocks his head to the side. “You carry mace?”

“This is New Orleans,” she says.

“Fair point.”

With a sign, Amaya reaches over and flips a light switch, and suddenly she can actually see him. She glares for a moment, then smiles wide and throws her arms around his neck. “I thought you were out of town until tomorrow.”

“What can I say?” He hugs her back. “I missed my little sister.”

Amaya lets go of Joel and looks up at him. “C’mon. I made _arroz con pollo._ Let’s eat.” She turns and walks into their tiny kitchen. Before following her, Joel slides off his leather jacket, tossing it onto the chair atop his sister’s bag, and revealing a long, curved scar along his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two, episode four, "Hell to the Righteous Ones," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	18. Season Two, Episode Four: Hell to the Righteous Ones

Vincent is bent over a work table tucked away in a crypt in the city of the dead. A yellowed map is stretched out before him, with grimoires keeping its edges from curling up. He’s using pebbles to mark various points over the streets of New Orleans, trying to find a pattern.

He’s pulled away from his work by a small knock on the heavy door to the crypt. He looks up in surprise. “Hope.”

“Hey.” Hope leans against the door frame, as if she doesn’t want to actually come inside. “You busy?”

Vincent gestures to the map. “Just trying to solve a vampire’s murder. Like you asked.”

“Yeah.” Hope gives an apologetic smile. “I realize that it’s not…it’s not your responsibility to answer for everything that happens in this city. I was just…”

“Freaked out?”

Hope shrugs. “Freaked out. Pissed off. Guilty. You know, I agreed to be…whatever I am because I thought I could make things better. But now a witch and a vampire are dead, and the wolves are stuck between here and the bayou, and…” She sighs. “This is harder than I thought it’d be.”

“Maybe we put too much on the shoulders of an eighteen-year-old.”

“My father would agree,” she says dryly. “But I can do this. I just…I just need time.”

Vincent gives a wry smile. “I don’t know how much time we can give you, kid. Seems like any day now things are gonna get real ugly.”

“Well, if you could get the witches to stand down, and if Marcel could keep the vampires in check, that would go a long way to keep things civil in the Quarter.”

With a laugh, Vincent says, “No promises.”

Hope rolls her eyes and turns to leave, but then stops and turns back. “So you really don’t know who killed that vampire in the alley?”

Vincent looks her right in the eye. “I really don’t know who killed him.”

Nodding, Hope says, “Okay,” and then leaves Vincent to his work.

 

* * *

 

There’s a place in the warehouse district, a couple of shipping containers welded together into an industrial nightclub that hosts almost nightly raves right out on the water. Freya walks through the wide open doors into an aurora of neon lights, pulsing to a techno beat spun by the DJ up on a raised platform. She makes her way through the mass of undulating bodies to the long, lit bar, where she finds Amaya, curvaceous in a skintight dress, with a drink in her hand. “Hi!” Freya shouts over the noise.

Amaya spins around, face alight. “Hey!” She jiggles her glass. “I’d’ve ordered you a bourbon, but I didn’t know if you wanted something different.”

“I’ll have what you’re having.” Freya hasn’t even seen what Amaya’s having, but that’s hardly the point. Amaya waves down one of the bartenders, and Freya calls, “You look…” She trails off, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah,” Amaya returns with a smirk. “You too.”

An old fashioned appears on the bar, and Freya picks it up. The women toast to each other and take long pulls. Then Amaya leans close and asks, “So how’d you sneak away from your giant family?”

Freya shrugs mischievously. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“That’s the spirit.” Amaya finishes the rest of her drink and slams the glass down onto the bartop. “C’mon.” She grabs Freya’s hand. “Let’s dance.”

Freya barely manages to knock her own drink back and abandon it beside Amaya’s before she’s being dragged onto the dance floor, the thrum of the bass shuddering in their ribcages.

 

* * *

 

There’s an open market in Jackson Square, and Hayley and Elijah are perusing the stalls, weaving between fruit vendors and artists peddling their wares from open trunks. They walk beside each other, Elijah’s hand on the small of her back, almost absentmindedly, like that’s just where it belongs. She picks up a pluot and shows it to him, and he shrugs, takes it, and places it in the canvas bag he’s carrying.

As they wait for the seller to be available so they can pay him, Elijah murmurs, “I’m surprised you agreed to come out with me.”

Hayley gives a half-smile. “Well, Hope told me that if I didn’t get out of the house, she was going to throw me out and put up a boundary spell so I can’t get back in.”

Elijah laughs. “You _have_ been a little…close since Hope was injured.”

Digging through her wallet for cash, she says shortly, “Someone put an arrow through my daughter stomach’s in our own home, so if I’m a little hesitant to leave her alone—”

“No, no, I understand. But she’s also right in that too much time cooped up inside isn’t good for you. I’m just…glad you’re out and about.”

Once their produce is paid for, they make their way down the alley of stalls, scored by various fiddlers and bluegrass troupes tucked away between fortunetellers and men with rows of barbecued meat. Out of the corner of her eye, Hayley spots a table where a tiny old man is selling art supplies, and, eager to get something for Hope, steps to the side to inspect the materials. She accidentally bumps into someone, and immediately apologizes. “Sorry, I—Joel?”

The man she’d bumped into turns, and his face blooms with surprise. “Hayley?”

Hayley’s mouth opens and closes a few times as she searches for what to say next. “I didn’t expect to see you here. How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Yeah I just moved to the city a few weeks ago. My sister’s a grad student at Tulane.” His eyes flick up as he notices Elijah for the first time. “Oh, hey.”

Hayley starts, like she’s just remembered Elijah is there. “Oh, Joel this is my…this is Elijah. Elijah, this is Joel. We met in…”

“Tennessee.”

“Tennessee. Right.”

Elijah sticks his hand out for Joel to shake. “Very nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Joel sticks his hands back into the pockets of his leather jacket, his collar turned up against the unseasonably cool breeze. “You getting some paints?”

“Yeah. They’re, um.” Hayley pauses. “They’re for my daughter.”

Joel freezes. “Your…daughter.”

Elijah gives Hayley a curious look, but she doesn’t acknowledge him. “Yeah. She’s a little annoyed with me at the moment, so I thought I’d bring her something. You know how teenagers are.”

When he hears _teenagers_ , Joel’s shoulders relax, and the relief rolls off of him in waves. “I see.” He smiles. “Well I should get going. This zucchini isn’t going to bake itself.” His smile softens. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“You too.” And then she watches as he disappears into the crowd of shoppers. Hayley watches him until a voice interrupts her reverie. “Old friend?”

She turns abruptly to Elijah, who is watching her carefully. “Yeah. Old friend. I met him while on the hunt for the cure. Didn’t know him long.”

Elijah hums, and then presses into her back to ease them into the flow of foot traffic, in the opposite direction of Joel.

 

* * *

 

They’re invisible in the sea of bodies, a rippling canvas of glitter and body paint. Amaya pulls her close by the hips, and Freya’s arms drape naturally over her shoulders. The base is unreal, the tremors so violent in their chests it’s a wonder they don’t shatter into dust.

Amaya’s fingers trail softly up Freya’s spine, leaving a rash of gooseflesh in their wake. Freya tosses her head back, and Amaya presses her face into the exposed skin. Their bodies move as one, hips and shoulders and legs in line as they inch closer and closer.

Breath coming heavy, Freya says in her ear, “You feel amazing.”

“You _look_ amazing,” Amaya replies, shouting over the music. “You smell amazing, too. What is that?”

“Sage and ginger.”

“What?”

Freya smiles. “Nothing.”

The beat never ends, even when the songs change. They dance through countless beat drops and key changes, the blood pulsing in their veins as they get impossibly closer, closer. Finally, when they’re four drinks in but drunk on each other’s touch, Amaya presses her lips to Freya’s ear and whispers, “Do you want to come back to my place?”

Pupils wide, Freya nods.

 

* * *

 

The door to Amaya’s bedroom bursts open and Freya stumbles through. Lips locked with Amaya’s, she reaches around to pull on the zipper of her dress, but after a few failed attempts, she spins her around. Face pressed into the crook of her neck, Freya slowly unzips the dress, revealing her smooth, warm skin inch by inch. When the zip reaches the small of her back, Amaya reaches up to slide the dress off. Suddenly, she’s in her lacy underwear and heels, and Freya just might be on fire.

Amaya turns again, a wicked grin on her face. She gently pressed Freya onto the bed, settling a leg on either side of her. She takes Freya’s face in her hands and kisses her hard. Freya places her own hands on the curve of her waist after Amaya reaches down to pull off Freya’s shirt in one deft tug. Her fingertips dance up the newly-exposed skin, sending shivers up Freya’s spine until her own fingers curl into Amaya’s skin and she’s pulling her down on top of her, tangling their limbs together.

 

* * *

 

Hope pads quietly past the kitchen, where she overhears voices from within. “It’s can’t be that hard to do it,” Rebekah insists, her high heels clacking sharply against the floor.

Hope can hear River’s heels thump against the cabinets as they swing, her fingers drumming against the countertop she’s sitting on. “To fry a chicken? Have you ever even _held_ a chicken?”

“Excuse you, I grew up right around the corner from a slaughterhouse.”

“Yeah, a _thousand_ years ago.”

Hope silently moves on, sneaking around until she’s at the entrance to the tunnels. Circumspect, she looks over both shoulders before slipping through the door and descending into the belly of New Orleans. The tunnels are just as winding as she remembers, and she takes countless turns, plunging in and out of darkness, with only her cell phone flashlight for assistance. She walks for what must be over a mile, backtracking when she takes a wrong turn, and coming to numerous dead ends, before finally she banks a right and is faced with a steep, rickety, wooden staircase. Huffing out a sigh of relief, she makes her way up. Every few steps, she has to snatch her foot up when the wood groans under her weight, worried she might fall through. But at last, she reaches a nondescript metal door, and pushes it open.

She stumbles into the lobby of a motel, its dappled gray carpet peeling up from the edges, water stains all along the baseboards. She passes the moldy couches and the front desk blanketed in a thick layer of dust and walks outside into the empty parking lot, lit only by the single blackletter L still working in the sign that reads _London Lodge._ She crosses the cracked pavement, head turning at a honking car as it blurs past, and stops at white door labelled 14. Her eyes flick down; the thick salt line is still intact, as is the circular sigil drawn in chicken blood on the door. She grabs the handle, bows her head, and, a few moments later, hears a click. Without knocking, Hope pushes the door open.

There’s a low creak as the door swings wide, and the motel room is shrouded in darkness. Hope stands just before the salt line, and peers into the black. “Hello?”

Silence. Almost a minute passes, and then, quietly, “Hope Mikaelson.” A face appears, half-lit by the flickering L. “Never expected you to come around here.”

Hope straightens herself. “I need your help, Theo.”

 

* * *

 

Freya wakes slowly, a wayward trumpeter crossing beneath Amaya’s bedroom window. She twists her head to see her, breathing slowly, fast asleep. She watches her, the way her chest moves, the spill of her dark hair over the white pillowcase, and very suddenly, it’s all too much. As gently as she can, Freya pulls the sheet back and lets her feet fall to the floor. She swipes her clothes up from the ground and climbs into them, hopping on one foot as she yanks on a boot. Once she’s dressed, she spies a yellow notepad on the desk crammed into a corner, and snatches it up, along with a pen. She begins, _Amaya,_ and pauses. What do you say when you’re leaving in the middle of the night? She starts half a dozen different sentences, crossing each out when they sound progressively more awkward. Eventually she gives up, tearing off the top sheet of the notepad and shoving it into her pocket.

Instead, she pads to Amaya’s side and gently pulls the sheet up so it’s better covering her. Amaya shifts slightly, then lets out a low sigh. Freya bends down and presses a kiss to her forehead, before backing away and closing the door behind her.

Once in the small living room, Freya turns, and then freezes. She’s face-to-face with a man wearing a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. They both start, each startled by the other. “Hi,” Freya whispers, hoping not to wake Amaya.

“Hi,” the man replies, eyes wide. He nods to the door behind her. “Friend of Amaya’s?”

“Yeah.” Freya’s head tilts to the side. “Are you?”

“Well, actually…” The man trails off as Freya’s eyes suddenly go very wide. She staring at the side of his neck, where she sees a long, curved scar—exactly like the one River mentioned while describing the person who shot Hope.

 

* * *

 

Theo’s flicked the lights of her motel room on, revealing its rundown, moldy interior, and now she’s seated on the bed, pose relaxed, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. “Why on earth would I help _you_? You trapped me in this hellhole.” She huffs. “Can’t get out, can’t do magic, and there’re _bedbugs_.”

Still standing outside the door, Hope snaps, “You kidnapped both my girlfriend and her mother and tried to kill me for my powers. How exactly did you think you were going to get away with that?”

“Call me confident.”

“I prefer arrogant.”

“You would. You’re a Mikaelson.”

Hope runs her tongue over her teeth, willing herself to keep calm. “I understand why you’re angry with me. Why you’re angry with my entire family. But I was hoping that your desire to help New Orleans would…supersede that.”

“I thought I made it perfectly clear that I’m not interested in a peace that doesn’t involve the witches running the show.”

Hope leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Well, you’ve certainly made it clear that you don’t understand the point of a _peace_.”

“And how is your _peace_ going, _Queen_?” Theo pushes herself off of the bed and lopes forward. “I have a feeling that things aren’t quite as easy as Marcel and Vincent sold you on, are they?”

Hope’s eyes flick up. “No. They’re not.” She sighs. “A vampire killed a witch in…just, just a messy situation, and I sent him here.”

“Yeah I heard him. He still hollers up a storm sometimes.”

“Right. Well, then someone shot me—”

“Someone _shot_ you?” Theo can’t keep the glee out of her voice. “Wow. I never considered playing dirty like that, but hey, to each their own.”

Unfazed, Hope continues, “The witches were understandably upset, and then a vampire ended up dead. Both sides are…about half an inch from declaring all-out war on the other, and I’m trapped in the middle…losing my mind.”

Theo’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

Hope gestures vaguely toward her head. “The voices. The ancestors. It takes all of my energy to keep those voices—all eight _million_ of them—out of my head. They’re always talking, talking, talking.” She looks Theo in the eye. “I know you wanted this. The Advocacy. But you don’t. Trust me.”

Straightening her back, Theo insists, “You’re just not strong enough to handle it, I suppose.”

“I’m stronger than you, Theo,” Hope says with a roll of her eyes. “I’m a Mikaelson witch and the child of a vampire. If I can’t handle this, there’s no way in hell you could.”

“Then why did you stop by? To insult me?”

Hope takes a deep breath. “No. I just…what do you know? About the Advocacy? The New Orleans covens have never done something like this before, so you must have learned about it from somewhere. Did you know the risks, the way it drives the Advocate _insane_ —”

“I knew the risk.” Theo shrugs. “I didn’t care. I wanted—” She cuts herself off.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Hope says. “You wanted the power.”

“Fine. I wanted the power. I wanted direct and unfettered access to the ancestors. I wanted to call the shots in this city.”

“Where did you get your information?”

A wicked smile spreads lazily across Theo’s face. “I’m not going to just _give_ you the answers, Hope Mikaelson. Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun? This is serious, Theo, people are dying, and I can’t help them if—”

“You can’t help them period. You have no idea what you’re doing. God, you Mikaelsons are all so arrogant. You think you can come into this city, with centuries of history that you couldn’t even begin to imagine, and know all the right things to do, all the right things to say?” Theo scoffs. “This is the reality you signed up for, _Queen_. Time to face the music.”

Hope swallows, eyes unblinking, as the truth of Theo’s words sink in. Despite the pounding in her head, one thought rings clear: _I’m screwed._

* * *

Before Freya can even open her mouth, the man marches to the front door of the apartment, wrenches it open, and points to the hall, a clear indicator for Freya to come outside. Hesitant, she glances back at Amaya’s bedroom door, and then acquiesces. She glares at the man as she passes him. Once they’re both in the hallway, he closes the door, and she lights into him. “You son of a bitch—”

The man watches her hand twist, clearly about to start a spell, and he says, “Whoa, whoa, are you really going to kill me while my sister’s asleep inside?”

Freya freezes. “Your sister?”

He nods. “I’m Amaya’s brother, Joel. She doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t know?”

“What I am.”

Freya’s eyebrows shoot up. “Someone who shoots teenage girls?”

His eyes narrow. “A vampire hunter.”

“Nice hunting,” she snarls. “You nearly murdered my niece.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t know!” He takes a deep breath, and says more quietly, “I didn’t know she wasn’t a vampire. I thought everyone who lived in there was.”

“Well she _wasn’t_ , and she could have _died_.”

“And I’m sorry for that, but it’s my _job_ to kill vampires, and when I found out a nest of them lived in the old mansion in the Quarter, I didn’t ask any questions.”

Freya tilts her head. “You’re…not from New Orleans, are you?”

He shakes his head. “We just got to town. Amaya was starting school, and since New Orleans is a hotbed of vampire activity, I figured…”

“You figured you’d come and wipe out a population of people trying to live their lives. Yeah, I got that.”

He grits his teeth. “Look, I’m sorry about your niece, okay, I just—”

“It’s not just my niece!” Freya interjects. “It’s my entire family, you put all of them in danger—”

“Oh, I know all about putting family in danger,” he scoffs. “Vampires wiped _my_ family out.”

Freya goes very still. “What?”

“Bet Amaya never told you that. Well how could she? She has no idea.”

Confused, Freya asks, “How…?”

Joel looks down. “Told her it was a house fire. I was eighteen, she was twelve. Off at sleepaway camp. I came home from a friend’s to find our parents, our _abuela_ , and our brother Adrian dead. Blood drained out of them.” Freya looks away, eyes shiny. “That’s when a band of vampire hunters showed up.” That piques Freya’s attention. “They assessed the situation and burned the house to cover it up. Since then, it’s been me and ‘Maya, and on the side, I’ve been hunting vampires.”

Freya takes a long while to answer. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. To Amaya. But that doesn’t change the fact that you came into _my home_ and almost killed my eighteen-year-old niece. Not to mention…” Realization dawns over her face. “It’s been you the whole time. You shot Hope, set off the witches, and then…you killed the vampire in the alley.”

He shrugs. “So what?”

Glowering, Freya hisses, “You need to stop this crusade, now. You’re going to set a bomb off in this city. There will be war in the streets, people will _die_ —”

Joel throws up his hands. “I’m here to take care of my sister and to kill vampires. That’s what I do.”

Freya’s hands curl into fists. “Not if I stop you.” She lifts a hand, fingers twisting upward, but Joel takes a step back and holds a hand out in caution. “You don’t want to do this.”

“You’re a threat to my family. I don’t have a choice.”

“And I’m all the family ‘Maya has _left_.” Freya swallows thickly. “Are you really going to take her brother from her?”

Freya’s hand remains raised, but her eyes are brimming. She knows what it means to be alone, truly alone, to have your family stolen from you by unknown forces in the night. She knows it’s her responsibility to protect her family— _she’s_ the big sister, _she’s_ the one who makes the hard choices, the sacrifices no one else should have to make. But when Amaya looks at her…for the first time in a thousand years, she feels _seen_. She’s not Freya Mikaelson, ageless witch of the most brutal undead family in history, but a woman, a person with wishes and feelings and a life outside of her wayward siblings.

She swallows thickly. “Don’t use her like that.”

“But it’s true. Listen, if I swear to you that I will never go near another member of your family, will you let me live with ‘Maya in peace?”

 _No_ , Freya’s better judgement cautions, but despite herself, she nods. Still, she warns, “If you come for them…” Her eyes flash. “…even Amaya won’t recognize your body.” Then she turns and stalks off, desperate to be anywhere else.

 

* * *

 

It’s late by the time Hope sneaks back into the compound. She hears voices from the courtyard, so she ducks behind pillars so that it appears she’s entering from the kitchen. As she approaches her family, she clocks that her mother is standing unusually far from Elijah, who’s on a stone bench with a glass of bourbon in his hands. Her father paces in front of the fountain. “Some great threat from outside the city,” he growls. “As if this city weren’t crawling with enough threats of its own.”

“Leave it to our mother to be as nonspecific as possible,” Elijah says, sipping his drink.

“I don’t believe this isn’t a trick,” Klaus blusters. “How are we to know that Esther isn’t concocting another grand scheme to kill us all? It wouldn’t be a stretch.”

“I thought she found peace.” Hayley’s voice is quiet. “When she died…I thought she found peace with Dahlia.” She looks back and forth between the two men. “If she’s back, is Dahlia? What if she comes back for—”

Elijah clears his throat, and suddenly all three of them are staring directly at Hope. Her eyes go wide. “Uh. Hi.”

“Hope.” Klaus goes quiet. “What are you doing?”

She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “I was gonna get something to eat, heard the powwow. Still trying to figure out Esther’s warning?”

“We need more information,” Elijah insists. “Her vagueness is going to get someone killed.”

“Ask…” All heads turn toward the entrance, where an unexpected figure stands with a familiar smirk. “…and ye shall receive.”

“Uncle Kol?” Hope’s jaw slackens. “What’re you doing here?”

Kol lets his backpack slip off of his shoulder and onto the stone floor with a _thwack_. “I come bearing gifts. Well. I come bearing information.”

Elijah stands up. “Information about what, exactly?”

“Well, I don’t know what’s going on with Esther. That’s a mystery I’d prefer to stay far away from. I’ve spent the past few months trekking across half of the eastern hemisphere trying to find another coven of witches that practices ancestral magic.” That piques Hope’s interest even further. “And after all my efforts, I finally have answers.”

“Answers about _what_ , Kol?” Klaus asks impatiently.

“The Advocacy. And how it’s going to kill our littlest Mikaelson.”

And slowly, very slowly, all heads turn once more to stare at Hope, who stares back, wide-eyed and pale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two, episode five, "The Differences Between Mistakes," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	19. Season Two, Episode Five: The Differences Between Mistakes

Everyone gathers in the library, curling up on couches or leaning against bookcases. Kol situates himself before the desk, half-standing, half-sitting, with Klaus lounging in the chair behind him.

Freya’s spot is just behind Hope, who’s trying to appear as small as possible on a couch. “What have you learned, brother?”

“I’ve spent the past few weeks traveling around Côte d’Ivoire, looking for a coven of witches.”

“As you do,” River mutters, and Hope pinches her leg.

“I’ve been doing research,” Kol continues, “since Hope called me this summer.”

“You called him?” Hayley asks her daughter. “You couldn’t come to me?”

Hope shrugs. “It’s not that I couldn’t. I just…needed someone outside it all.”

Hayley opens her mouth, but Elijah places a hand on her shoulder, and she lets it go. Moving on, Kol says, “There aren’t many covens that practice ancestral magic, but of the ones that do, the coven of Mount Nimba in Côte d’Ivoire has traditions most similar to the New Orleans covens. So I went there and asked to speak to their Advocate.”

“And what did you find?” Klaus demands. “What did she tell you?”

Kol glances over his shoulder at Klaus, and then settles his gaze on Hope. “Should you tell them or shall I?”

Hope doesn’t answer, so Klaus stands and presses, “Hope, what is he talking about?”

River rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, Hope, just tell them.”

“Al _right_ , I—alright.” Hope takes a deep breath. “It’s…sort of…having these voices in my head, all these ancestors, all the time.” Her eyes flick up to the heavens. “It’s kind of…driving me crazy.”

Hayley’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean it’s driving you crazy?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Freya asks, just over her shoulder.

Klaus growls, “You can _not_ keep secrets like this, Hope—”

“ _Enough!_ ” Rebekah snaps, standing up. She crosses over to Hope’s side and perches on the arm of the couch, pulling her niece into her side. “Like the lot of you never kept things to yourselves. Leave her be.” Hope smiles gratefully at her aunt.

Eyebrows raised, Kol elaborates. “In that village, I did not see an Advocate. I saw a girl, barely older than you, Hope, completely detached from the world, from her family. She was in excruciating agony, because the voices of her coven’s ancestors spoke to her ceaselessly. Her mother told me that the girl tried her best to keep them at bay, but over time she grew weaker. Now she can’t even get out of bed, and the coven has effectively lost its direct line to its ancestors.”

“How long?” They all turn to look at Elijah, who asks, “How long did it take for her to…deteriorate?”

Kol’s eyes fall, then flick up to look at Hope. “Less than a year.”

 

* * *

 

River heads for the compound exit, a backpack slung over one shoulder. She’s nearly in the entranceway when she hears a voice behind her. “Hey.”

She turns to see Hope, a few feet back. “Hey.” She jerks her head up toward the library on the floor above. “They still discussing things up there?”

Hope nods. “I couldn’t take much more. Had to get out of there before my own family were the ones to drive me crazy.” She points to the backpack. “You going to study?”

“Oh, um.” She half-shrugs. “I’m actually headed to the bayou.”

Hope makes a face. “What for?”

“To turn.”

“…To turn what?”

“No, I—” River takes a deep breath. “I’m actually going to go turn into a wolf.” She’s met with silence. “I’ve done it a couple of times this semester. Just when things get stressful, you know. When you got shot. It helps. Not being a human with human thoughts and human feelings. It’s like, a break.”

Hope’s eyebrows flick upward, and she opens and closes her mouth a few times before saying, “I’m sorry, I don’t…I don’t understand. I made that moonlight ring so you didn’t _have_ to turn anymore, not so you could…turn whenever.”

“Does it matter?” River says, tone tinged with annoyance. “You gave me this to control my wolf form. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, but the idea wasn’t that you’d run off to the bayou whenever things got rough. The point was to spare you the absolute _agony_ of becoming a wolf.”

“Yeah well, at least I try to deal with my problems instead of ignoring them in the hopes that they go away.”

Surprise blooms across Hope’s face. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

River rolls her eyes. “Come on, Hope. I’ve been telling you for _months_ to tell someone about the headaches, the constant voices in your head. You have a house full of people who _love_ you and you left them on the outside. So maybe you should cut them some slack if they don’t know how to handle the fact that this Advocacy thing could _kill you_.”

“Because going out into the middle of nowhere to break all of your bones and become a wolf is the epitome of _handling_ things well. And you know what? This is _my_ problem, so maybe let _me_ handle it.”

“That’s not how relationships work, Hope!” River throws her hands up in exasperation. “When you love someone, when you let them love you, your problems aren’t your own anymore! It was selfish of you to keep this to yourself, and it was selfish of you to ask me to, too.” Hope is stunned into silence once more. “I gotta go.” River spins around and stalks off, leaving her girlfriend shaken in her wake.

 

* * *

 

“We have to find a way to transfer the Advocacy to someone else,” Klaus insists, banging his fist on the desk. “Kol, surely your Noomba coven had a solution.”

“It’s _Nimba_ ,” Kol snaps, “and don’t you think that if they had a solution they would have implemented it already? Their Advocate is basically a vegetable.”

“Okay let’s calm down.” Hayley stands up and straightens herself out. “Hope’s stronger than the average witch, and it’s only been a few months. We have some time to figure out what’s happening. It’s not going to do us any good to panic.”

The conversation continues, but Freya’s attention is diverted by a buzzing in her pocket. She pulls out her phone and is jolted by the name: _Amaya_. She slips out of the room unnoticed, staring at the phone as if it’s a bomb about to explode. She closes herself in her bedroom, sits on the bed, and watches as the phone rings and rings and rings until it falls silent, and a few moments later: _Missed Calls (3)_.

Freya’s eyes slide shut, but flicker open again a minute later when her phone buzzes again. _New Voicemail_. She scrambles to unlock her phone and press it to her ear.

“Hey, Freya. It’s…me.” Freya’s shoulder sag as she listens to Amaya’s voice. “Not really sure what there is to say. It sucked to wake up without you there. Sucks more now that you’re not answering my calls. Listen, just…call me back? Yeah just…just call me back.” And then there’s a click, and Freya lets the phone fall to the bed.

She takes a few deep breaths, runs her hands through her hair, and stands up, sticking her phone back into her pocket. Avoiding her reflection in her mirror, she heads back to the library—back to the things that make sense.

 

* * *

 

Joel paces the living room of their tiny apartment, phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. He’s got a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. “Yeah,” he says to the person on the other end of the line. “Yeah, I got that.” He scribbles down the number _14_ and circles it twice. “Anything more specific?” He listens, and then hums. _Bright L._ “Alright, that’s all you’ve got?” A pause. “Okay, thanks.” He hangs up and sits on the couch, leaving the notepad and pen on the coffee table cluttered with textbooks and papers.

He begins tapping on his phone. He pulls up Google and searches what little information he has to go off of: _New Orleans abandoned motel, L_. Half a second later, the first search result gives him exactly what he’s been looking for: _London Lodge, New Orleans_.

 

* * *

 

Freya pokes her head into Hope’s room and spies her on the balcony, face tipped up toward the sun. She raps her knuckles quietly on the door, and Hope murmurs, “Yeah. Come in,” so she does. She walks out to her niece and rests against the balustrade. “How are you?”

“Four months as queen and this city is about to descend into anarchy, I’m fully aboard the train to Crazy Town, and my girlfriend’s pissed at me. I’m doing _great_.”

Freya offers a sympathetic smile, and then says, “I heard the two of you got into an argument.”

Hope turns to face her aunt, leaning back against the rail. “It wasn’t so much an argument as it was me, being an insecure ass for no reason.” She crosses her arms. “I have no idea what I’m going to do to fix this.”

“Well, I’d give you advice…” Freya takes a deep breath, makes a decision. “…but I’m kind of screwing up my own relationship right now.”

Hope’s eyes blow wide, and her mouth gapes into a disbelieving grin. “Aunt Freya, are you _dating_ someone?” Freya merely smiles in response, so Hope demands, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“That’s rich, coming from the queen of secret-keeping.”

Rolling her eyes, Hope says, “Yeah, yeah, this is _way_ juicier than the fact that dead people are talking to me. Tell me everything!”

“…Her name is Amaya.”

Hope grabs Freya’s arm. “You’re dating a _woman_?”

“I _was_ —I—yes.”

Hope makes a strangled, excited noise. “This is the _best_ news. Do you know how _exhausting_ it is to be surrounded by heterosexuals, like, _all the time_? Wait, have you dated girls before? Because if not let me tell you it is the _best_ —”

With a laugh, Freya cuts her off. “Hope, Hope, calm down. I get that this is exciting, but…” Her eyes fall to the ground. “I can’t see her anymore.”

“Why not?”

“It’s…it’s complicated, Hope, and I just—”

“Do you love her?”

Freya looks up at her niece, startled. “What?”

Hope shrugs. “Do you love her?”

“I…I don’t know. It has been a long time since I loved someone who wasn’t a member of my family. How does one even know?”

“Well…” Hope sighs. “I knew I loved River when…I guess it was when I chose her over my own family. I had _just_ rescued Dad from Marcel’s weird basement prison and I had _just_ found out that River was a Malraux wolf. She was the key to curing Uncle Elijah and Uncle Kol. And I didn’t tell anyone. I wanted to protect her.

“But then Dad found out and he didn’t care what she meant to me. All he cared about was curing his brothers.” She smirks. “So I kicked his ass in the middle of the street. I didn’t care that I had spent seventeen years wishing he was a part of my life. I didn’t care that he was just trying to save his family. I cared about her. I chose her over him and that’s when I knew I loved her.”

Freya is silent, staring at Hope as if just seeing her for the first time. Then she blinks rapidly and swallows. “Well. Then using that as a benchmark…yes, I suppose I do love her.”

“Then whatever you’ve done, whatever…complication there is? Fix it.” She gives a wry smile. “I know I screwed up with River. I know that she’s mad at me, and she has every right to be. But I also know that we’re better than this, that we’re stronger than this. And when I fully remove my head from my own ass, I know that I can make it up to her. Somehow.”

“You’re quite wise for an eighteen-year-old.”

“Didn’t you hear?” Hope smiles mischievously. “I’m so wise they made me a queen.”

Freya tosses an arm around Hope and tugs her into a hug. “You _are_ wise. But you are not alone. We are your family. We are here to help you.”

“I know,” Hope says into her shirt. “I know you guys just want to protect me.”

And with that, a low, cold feeling sinks over Freya. She rests her chin atop Hope’s head. “Yes. Yes we do.”

 

* * *

 

It’s dusk when Joel finds it, all the way up in Hollygrove. As he approaches the cracked parking lot, a deep, chilling sense of existential dread washes over him. Every molecule in his body urges him to run, to be anywhere else but here, but he knows magic when he feels it, and he presses on. There are a few buildings to the motel, difficult to discern without the help of the flickering _L_ in the sign, and it takes him a few minutes of fighting his instinct to flee before he sees it: a white door labelled _14._

He knocks, and waits. And waits. After a minute, he assumes his information is wrong, that his source was mistaken, but then, with a low, discordant creak, the door swings open, and a strange figure stands on the other side. “You’re not who I expected.”

He straightens himself. “My name is Joel Ruiz. I was told that you could help me.”

“Help you?” She looks him up and down skeptically. “Boy, I don’t know if anyone can help you.”

“I’m a vampire hunter,” he insists, “and I was told by my source—a witch—that whoever lived in this…” He looks around with curious eyes. “… _place_ had information that could help me rid this city of vampires for good.”

Her doubtful frown is quickly replaced with a bright grin. “So you’re here about the Originals?”

Joel’s confused. “The original whats?”

Impossibly, her smile widens further. “Oh honey, you have a lot to learn.” She turns, settles herself on her bed. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says dryly. “It’s gonna be a long night, Joel Ruiz.”

He eyes the doorframe. “I can come in?”

“Unfortunately, no. Boundary spell. Only the Advocate can get in or out. But you’re welcome to pull up some pavement.”

With a half-shrug, Joel settles himself onto the ground just outside her door. “What’s your name, by the way? My source didn’t have one.”

Her smile is glittering. “You can call me Theo.”

 

* * *

 

From his spot in the alley, Ricky leans just out far enough to see that Cauldron is nearly empty. It’s late, and the vast majority of the witches who peddle their wares and services to naïve tourists have folded up their tables and tucked away their tarot cards for the night. This is the point in the evening that he’s been waiting for, because he’s no fool; he knows that any move against the witches while they have the numbers advantage is a suicide mission, and Ricky has no interest in having his heart ripped from his chest today.

He motions for his few cohorts to come in close, and then whispers, “Let’s teach these bitches a lesson.” Then the small group of renegade vampires charge into the square, picking up rocks and hurling them through the storefronts, the places where many French Quarter witches make their livelihood. The few tables that remain are flipped over, reducing them to splinters, and one of Ricky’s friends pulls out a flask. He douses the timber with his personal store of whiskey, and another vampire retrieves his Zippo and sets the mass on fire.

Ricky lets out a howling laugh, cut short by a loud, “The _hell_ are you doing?” The group looks up to see Annelise, barely discernable in the shadows cast by the flames, leaning out of a damaged restaurant. Ricky picks up a lit piece of wood, smirks and chucks it like a spear at her head. She barely manages to duck out of the way, but the wood sails past her and into her restaurant. Flames leap up behind her, and she curses. “ _Suctus incendia_!” The fire blinks out, and she turns to see the vampire horde attempting to flee, cackling as they run into the night.

Annelise narrows her eyes and extends a hand, and suddenly, the vampires are all on their knees, grasping at their heads and yowling in pain. Then, with a flick of her wrist, all of their necks snap, and they fall limp to the ground. She tugs her phone out of her pocket and dials a familiar number. “Get down here. We just got rousted.”

 

* * *

 

Hayley leans against the doorframe to their bedroom, half hidden by the wall. She watches Elijah tug at his tie, slip off his suit jacket to hang up neatly in the armoire. He’s gotten one button on his dress shirt undone before she raps lightly on the jamb. “Hey.”

He turns, surprised. His smile comes easily. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” She steps into the room, arms swinging awkwardly. “So…I need to tell you something.” She pushes the door closed behind her and leans against it.

Elijah settles on the foot of the bed. “Go on.” His head is tilted in curiosity.

“Right. Well.” She plays with her fingers nervously, bending them inward and out. “That…that guy? Joel? From the farmer’s market?” She takes a deep breath. “He wasn’t a friend. I didn’t…I didn’t know him long enough for him to be a friend.” She can’t look at him, so she looks down to her hands. “It was the night that my friend Meredith told me that she’d heard the Malraux pack had been wiped out, and that there was no hope to cure you. Mary drove up to watch Hope, and I went out to get…really, stupidly drunk. I just wanted to…I don’t know. Forget. Forget about you, forget about what this family needed from me, and…he was there.”

Head still bowed, her eyes flick up to look at him. “I slept with him.”

Elijah’s eyebrows shoot up, and he slowly rises to his feet. His hands move to button his suit jacket, but he’d already taken it off, so they fall back to his sides. Hayley closes her eyes. “It was…it was one night, and it was a _mistake_ , and…Elijah, I’m sorry—”

“For what?” He turns back to look at her. “For seeking a moment of comfort in fifteen years of solitude?”

“Elijah, I—”

“Do you know what I told Freya not days before you freed us from our Chambre de Chasse?” Hayley shakes her head. “I told her that my greatest fear would be that after all those years, all that time spent with our family’s selfish needs settled unfairly upon your shoulders, that you would still be alone.” Elijah strides up to her, places his hands on either side of her face. “I do not own you, Hayley Marshall. So while it would be a lie to say that thinking of you with another man doesn’t spark something…primal in me, I would never begrudge you the things you needed to do to get by in our absence.”

Hayley tips her head forward to rest against his chest, and he pulls her tightly into his arms. He rubs a soothing hand up and down her back, settling his chin atop her head.

 

* * *

 

Hope picks her way through the wreckage of the Cauldron, the embers of the fire still glowing hot. There’s a large crowd of witches at this point, most still dressed for bed, all talking at once about the damage done to their businesses. Hope stares in awe at the broken windows, the scorch marks on the pavement.

Vincent approaches her. “Cowards came when they knew we’d’ve cleared out. If they’d come during the day, they wouldn’t’ve survived.”

“Did they survive?” she asks. “Where are they?”

“Annelise snapped their necks. They’re tied up with vervaine ropes in the basement of her momma’s restaurant.”

Hope looks up toward the restaurant and sets her jaw. Without another word she marches for the door, the crowd of onlooking witches parting silently to let her through. She bypasses the burned table and the cracked chairs and heads down into the basement, where Annelise stands over four seething vampires.

Hope stops a few feet before them, Vincent just behind, and glares down. “These are the ones who caused all the damage?”

Annelise quirks an eyebrow. “Saw them with my own eyes. Took them down with my own hand.”

“Good for you.” Hope’s eyes bounce between each vampire, anger rippling off of her. “Normally I would wait for your…representative to be here before passing judgement. But I don’t have time for that. Any attack on the witches is an attack on this entire city, and I can’t let that stand for even a minute.” She lets out a slow breath. “Five years, each.”

Ricky scrambles to his feet, wincing against the pull of the vervaine ropes. “Everything you _do_ is an attack on this city, you _bitch_.”

Instead of answering, Hope says to Annelise, “Go to the Jardin Gris. Get as much vervaine as you can find. I have a feeling it’s going to take a lot to subdue these idiots as we take them to the Penitentiary.”

Annelise disappears up the stairs, and Vincent murmurs, “You want me to call Marcel?”

“No…I have a feeling he’ll find out soon enough.”

 

* * *

 

Joel’s on his feet again, pacing a tiny circle in front of Theo’s door. “So you’re telling me that the oldest vampires in the history of time live in this city, and if I kill them, all of the vampires they’ve ever created will die along with them?”

Theo hums. “Well, except those in Klaus’s line. He was unlinked from his line fifteen years ago, but yes, if you kill Elijah and Rebekah, you’ll knock out roughly a two-thirds of all the vampires in the world in one fell swoop. You’ll be a hero.”

“So how do I kill them?”

Clucking her tongue, Theo explains, “See that’s the tricky bit. The only thing that can kill an Original vampire is white oak from a tree in Virginia that’s been burned down twice now. There were remnants from that tree for a while, but they’re all gone now.”

The air whooshes out of Joel. “So there’s nothing?”

“I didn’t say that.” Theo stands up and walks over to him with a smirk. “Sixteen years ago, the Mikaelsons’ crazy aunt Dahlia woke up from a Sleeping Beauty nap with the intention of kidnapping Hope.”

“Jesus,” Joel breathes.

“Right before the Mikaelsons defeated her, she _almost_ defeated them. She took the last remaining white oak stake and turned it to ash, which she then used to suffocate them.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to that ash, now would you?”

“Smart boy…” Theo leans against the doorjamb. “It turns out that Mikaelsons are many things, but tidy is not one of them. They left a sea of white oak ash behind as they celebrated their victory over Dahlia, and my mother, a smart witch who spent more time listening than she did talking, quietly followed behind and cleaned up the mess.”

She snatches a motel notepad and pen up from the nightstand and begins to sketch out a map. “Go to Lafayette Cemetery. Look for my family crypt. This should help.” She tears off the sheet and stretches her arm out, the paper just crossing the boundary spell. “Look for an old bottle of Rougaroux filled with what looks like sand. That’s what you’ll need to get the job done.”

Joel takes the paper and studies it. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. You’re the one doing the dirty work. I certainly won’t be sad to see that family go.”

Joel starts to turn, but then pauses and looks back. “Hang on. You said one of the Originals’ names is Elijah?”

Theo shrugs. “Yeah, Elijah Mikaelson’s the eldest brother. Well, the eldest brother still living. Why?”

With a shake of his head, Joel says, “No reason.”

Just then, the sounds of people approaching startle the pair. Theo looks over Joel’s shoulder and sees shadows moving. “Someone’s coming. You should go.”

Joel nods, and says once again, “Thank you for your help.”

“Go!”

And Joel darts away, slinking in the shadows all the way home.

 

* * *

 

Hope stands with her head bowed and a hand pressed against a door labelled _23._ From inside, Ricky hollers, “The vampires won’t stand for this shit! If they have to kill you to free us all they will!”

Ignoring him, Hope finishes the boundary spell. She looks up at Vincent. “This is their punishment. Make sure that your witches don’t come here and antagonize them further.”

“There was thousands of dollars of damage!” Vincent argues.

Before Hope can reply, a voice drawls, “I’ll make sure to write a check.”

They both turn to see Marcel walking up. Vincent makes a lunge for him, but Hope places a warning hand on his chest. “Don’t.” She glares at Marcel. “How many times have I _told_ you—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep my guys in line.” He waves her off dismissively. “Has it ever occurred to you that after one vampire gets stuck here after defending himself and other gets murdered in an alley, I might not be able to _keep_ them in line?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that that’s your _job_?” Marcel opens his mouth, but Hope cuts across him. “No. Let me make myself very clear. This is all on _you_. You keep coming to me after the fact and telling me how to respond—if you want to give me advice, maybe try showing up _before_ someone ends up dead.”

“I am _trying_ ,” Marcel hisses, “but I’ve got dozens of guys, and they’re all a mess because of what’s happening in this city, and if you think sentencing these goons to half a decade in here is going to help things, you’re insane.”

“I have every vampire, witch, and werewolf _in_ this city looking to me for fair justice, so if you think I’m going to let what happened tonight slide, you’re not just insane, you’re an idiot.” With that, Hope spins on her heel and stalks away. Over her shoulder she snaps, “Make sure that they’re each given one bloodbag a week until they’re let out. See if you can’t screw that up, too.”

 

* * *

 

Looking over his shoulder, Joel ducks into the Lafayette Cemetery, keeping as close to the shadows as he can manage. There are a number of witches milling about, and he overhears something about a cauldron, but he can’t make it out. He follows the path drawn for him by Theo, and at one point, he bumps into a large, cement potted plant and hisses.

“What was that?” he hears, and he knows he’s drawn someone’s attention. He darts away, managing to silently appear three crypts over before whoever heard him can round the bend to see where he was. It only takes him a few minutes to find the small crypt with the stone letters _LEROY_ over the entrance. He slowly pushes open the door, wincing at the low creak, and steals inside.

There’s stuff _everywhere_ , parchments and old leather-bound books and a stupefying number of candles. He digs through the clutter, looking under rickety wooden tables and moving urns around. After a minute: “Yes!” He extracts a tall, heavy bottle of Rougaroux filled with ash. Joel smiles. “Time to kill some vampires.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two, episode six, "Struggle Under the Weight," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	20. Season Two, Episode Six: Struggle Under the Weight

Hope eats slowly, chewing each spoonful of cereal as if it were made of toffee. She stares, unblinking, at nothing; after a full night of no sleep, she’s little more than a zombie at this point. She can vaguely hear the goings-on of the other residents of the household, but none of them register. She’s in her own world of exhaustion.

Then the door to the kitchen bangs open, and a voice growls, “Is this your idea of justice?”

She turns her head slowly, face impassive. “This is my idea of breakfast.”

Marcel storms over and slams his fist onto the table. “Three of my nightwalkers were found this morning, all staked.”

Hope blinks once, twice, and then lets her spoon clank into her bowl. “Shit.”

“This is the witches getting payback for what Ricky and the others did last night.”

“You don’t _know_ that,” Hope insists, but her voice belies the fact that she thinks the same.

Marcel’s eyes flash dangerously, but before he can say anything, Hayley appears behind him. “What’s going on?”

“Three more vampires are dead, and because I respect this city’s _leader_ , I am here _asking_ her to do something about it.”

Hope slowly pushes herself to her feet. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to give me more than _fifteen seconds_ to respond to something, Marcel.”

“They are _dead_!” Marcel barks. “My guys are being _slaughtered_ and _no one_ has answered for it yet!”

“We don’t know who did it!” Hope shouts back. “Give me a name, give me proof, give me _anything_ and I will send them to the Penitentiary! But as of right now, all you have is four dead vampires and nothing to go off of.”

Marcel takes a threatening step forward, and in an instant, Hayley has him pinned to the wall by the throat. “ _Don’t_ ,” she growls.

Marcel huffs out a breath, and then shoves Hayley off of him. He points at Hope. “This is on _you_.” Then he storms out, pushing back Elijah just as he appears in the doorway.

Hope watches Marcel leave, and then sits back into her chair. Her mother comes over and stands beside her, massaging her shoulder comfortingly. “This is _not_ your fault.”

“It is if the witches feel like they have the…freedom to kill vampires because I won’t do anything to stop them.”

Hayley opens her mouth to say something, but the words don’t come. Instead, she looks to Elijah, who merely sighs.

And from the balcony above, well out of view, Klaus listens, the barest hint of a devilish smirk on his face.

 

* * *

 

River stumbles into the tiny bayou village, a backpack full of clothes and food over one shoulder, and is surprised to find a large circle of people stretching from the shack porch all the way to the hammocks slung between trees. In the center stands Rose, hip cocked and arms crossed.

River puts her plans to turn on hold and lets her backpack thump to the earth. As quietly as possible, she leans against a tree, mostly shielding herself from view, and listens.

“I’m not asking you to pick sides in a conflict that hasn’t even happened yet,” Rose addresses the group. “I’m just telling you what this pack will do _if_ something goes down in the Quarter.”

“Why should we help either of them?” someone argues. “Let the vampires and the witches take each other out. More room for us.”

“That’s not what we agreed to when we agreed to a peace!”

“When _you_ agreed to a peace,” someone else shoots back. “Peace sounds great until there’s an actual _war_ in the Quarter. Why should we get involved?”

“Rose is right!” yet another person interjects. “We’ve been bellyachin’ for years that we don’t get no respect in the Quarter. Well, they’ll sure as hell respect us if we’re fightin’ ‘em.”

Rose takes a deep breath. “I won’t force any of you to fight in a battle that you don’t sign up for. You are my _pack_ , and my concern is for your safety. But that doesn’t change the fact that the only reason we can be in the Quarter at all is because Vincent and Marcel were willing to sit down with me and work out a new way of life in New Orleans for all of us. So my decision is final.” She straightens her back. “If war breaks out between the witches and the vampires, the Crescent wolves _will_ side with the witches.” River sucks in a shocked breath. “A better peace exists between us and them, and the vampires, despite Marcel’s best efforts, are still a threat to us all.”

The resulting murmurs from the circle are mixed, but mostly positive. Slowly, River bends down to retrieve her bag and back away in the woods, deciding to turn another day.

 

* * *

 

Marcel sits alone at the bar in Rousseau’s, two fingers into his second glass of bourbon. There’s nothing else going on in the bar; it’s still early enough in the day, and empty bars are the best places for melancholic contemplation, so he’s not complaining.

Then a body takes the seat next to his, and it’s only out of sheer exhaustion that he doesn’t roll his eyes. “I’m not interested in getting into it with you today.”

“Ah.” Klaus waves him off dismissively. “I hear you got into a bit of a row with Hope this morning. Thought I’d come offer my condolences. I’ve been on the receiving end of her ire more than once since our reunion. She really is just like her mother.” He flicks a finger up to catch the attention of the bartender, who nods in recognition and begins pouring a drink.

“Yeah, well unlike you, I’m not too concerned if Hope likes me or not. I’m more focused on whether she can lead this city like we thought she could.”

“Yes, well…” Klaus accepts the scotch handed to him by the bartender, who disappears into the back, and takes a pull. “Not to sound patronizing, but I _did_ wonder if selecting an eighteen-year-old girl to play queen to a city of dangerous magical beings wasn’t a tad inadvisable—but then, my daughter seems to care little for my advice.”

Marcel hums. “Perhaps she’s met you.”

Klaus lets that one slide. “I also came to offer my condolences for the loss of your nightwalkers. I have always admired your dedication to your…motley crew, and I know you do not take their deaths lightly.”

Marcel stares hard into his glass, and doesn’t respond for a long moment. Then he starts, “You know I’ve been thinking about their deaths. I’ve been thinking about the idea that the witches are responsible. It doesn’t add up, you know? Not that I don’t think the witches are capable of murdering four of my nightwalkers. But after everything went down with Theo at the beginning of the summer, I believed that Vincent and the covens really were interested in a peace.”

“Who can predict the fickle minds of witches?” Klaus offers with a shrug.

As if he didn’t hear anything, Marcel continues, “But you know who has never been interested in peace in New Orleans?” He turns his head slowly. “You.” Klaus doesn’t move. “You see, long as I can remember, you’ve been tryin’ to stir things up in this city so that you can find a way to come out on top. And just when things were starting to look good in New Orleans, someone starts killing us.” Marcel’s eyebrows quirk. “So I can’t help but wonder if it isn’t _you_ killin’ my guys.”

Klaus nods almost absent-mindedly, letting the allegation stew. After long silence, he points at Marcel, drink still in hand, and growls, “How _dare_ you accuse _me_ of causing chaos in _my_ _city_ , in the city that looks to _my daughter_ for guidance? Do you truly believe me to be so wicked, so thirsty for power that I would risk safety of my _child_ for some grand machination that puts her at the center of a war?”

Marcel’s face betrays a slight sense of abashment, but he presses on, “And how long into this war will it take before your daughter turns to _you_ for help, huh? How long before you find yourself calling the shots again, before the entire Quarter has to bow down to the mighty Klaus Mikaelson?”

“So that’s my plan,” Klaus says, voice still and cold. “I tear New Orleans apart until even my daughter’s considerable magical prowess cannot hold it together, and then I strip the power from her like some cartoon villain.”

“You’ve never cared about sacrificing your family for your own gains in the past. Why start with Hope?”

Klaus goes silent, not a muscle moving in his body. Then, slowly, the barest hint of a smirk curls at the corners of his mouth. “Well. I shall play the part given me.” In a flash, he is standing by the door, and Marcel is prone on the floor, neck snapped brutally. Klaus shoots one final glare at the body before shoving open the doors and storming into the bright sunlight of New Orleans.

 

* * *

 

Freya picks her way through the farmer’s market, a burlap sack slung over one shoulder. She mostly sticks to the witch vendors; she’s been low on supplies, and with tensions running so high in the Quarter, she believes it best to be as prepared as possible.

She is sidetracked, however, by a table of apples off to one side. There are all sorts of varieties, stacked to precarious heights around the vendor stall. She picks a golden delicious from the top of a pile and inspects it. A voice behind her says quietly, “Hey.”

She turns, and her eyes blow wide when she sees Amaya, stiff and impassive a few feet away. She swallows thickly. “Hello.”

Amaya blinks a few times before saying, “You know, I don’t know how things work in New Orleans, but where I come from, we’re taught to be honest with people.”

Freya’s face falls. “Amaya…”

“If you were just in it for the sex, you could have said so. I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

Freya suddenly feels very, very small. “That’s not…I wasn’t just in it for the sex.”

“Really? Because two days of unanswered calls don’t exactly communicate long-term interest.” Her eyes are narrowed in anger, but Freya recognizes hurt when she sees it.

“There’s nothing I can say to you to make this situation better,” Freya says. “I can only apologize for hurting you.”

Amaya crosses her arms tightly. “Yeah, well you can shove your apology. I don’t want it. I don’t even believe it.”

“Amaya, I—”

“Did you feel _anything_ for me?”

Freya looks at her, at the crestfallen expression on her face, at the sheen in her eyes. She should lie, should make this a clean break for them both. There’s no _point_ in telling the truth, because nothing could possibly come of it.

She places the apple back in its place and then whispers, “I felt everything for you. That’s the problem.” And then she disappears, slipping seamlessly into the flow of foot traffic between the stalls, leaving Amaya, shellshocked and alone.

 

* * *

 

Klaus lounges in the library, thumbing an open book lazily. Elijah sits at the desk, pouring over a tome of his own. The compound is largely silent, until a voice booms, “KLAUS!”

Not even looking up from his book, Elijah drones, “Brother, I do believe you have a visitor.”

Suddenly, Klaus is flying into the wall of books, and Marcel is standing in the middle of the library, seething. Klaus pops to his feet and stomps toward Marcel. “Now listen here—”

Elijah appears, a hand on his brother’s chest to hold him back. “I seem to recall a concerted effort to keep violence _out_ of your daughter’s home,” he murmurs.

Klaus glares at him, but then jabs a finger at Marcel. “You come into _my_ home—”

“You snapped my neck!” Marcel shouts. “And don’t think I’ve moved past my theory.”

“What theory is that?” Elijah asks sharply.

Gesticulating violently, Marcel explains, “I’m not convinced that he’s not the one killing all my guys for his own gain!”

Elijah narrows his eyes. “And what possible gain could that be?”

“He believes that I would risk the safety of my own daughter so that I may reestablish myself as the king of New Orleans,” Klaus says. Elijah remains suspiciously silent, and Klaus’s eyes go wide. “Surely you don’t agree with him, Elijah.”

Before Elijah can answer, the trio hears, “Is it true?” They all turn to see Hope in the doorway, face aghast. “Dad, did you kill those nightwalkers?”

“Absolutely not,” Klaus answers unequivocally. “Hope, trust me—”

“Why should she?” Marcel argues. “Why should any of us?”

Klaus growls, “I’m not the one who laid this city’s problems on the back of an _eighteen-year-old_ —”

“ _Enough_!” Hope shouts, silencing the men. “Enough.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t…I don’t particularly believe either of you, and right now, I don’t need this shit.” She takes off toward her room.

Elijah looks between both of the men he’s keeping apart. “Neither of you is helping her. Pull yourselves together.” Then he, too, disappears into the hall, leaving Klaus and Marcel to their devices.

 

* * *

 

River’s a blur through the courtyard, dashing past the fountain and up the stairs until she crashes through the door to her bedroom. “Hope, where are you?” she pants, eyes wild.

Cross-legged on the bed, Hope looks up, startled. “Right here. What’s wrong?” She exchanges a worried glance with her mother, who is also sitting on the bed.

River takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady herself. “The wolves. They’re preparing for a war.”

Both mother and daughter swear under their breaths. “Who told you this? Rose?” Hayley asks.

“I got to the bayou right in the middle of a pack meeting. Rose let everyone know that if push comes to shove, the wolves will come to the aid of the witches.”

Hope pushes herself off of the bed and starts to pace. “Jesus Christ. If the vampires find out about this, it’s only going to escalate things further.”

Hayley turns back to River. “Did Rose say why?”

River shrugs. “Isn’t it obvious? The vampires are still a threat to the wolves. Marcel talks a nice game, but a lot of them still don’t feel comfortable in the Quarter, and it’s not because of the witches.”

Hayley makes a face. “She’s not wrong.”

Hope reaches onto the bed and snatches up her phone. She immediately begins tapping away. “Who are you talking to?” Hayley asks.

“Josh and Leanne,” she answers. “I need to have a word.”

 

* * *

 

Elijah finds her in the kitchen, perched on the edge of the countertop, mindlessly stirring the coffee that’s rapidly cooling in her hands. He approaches slowly, leaning against the cabinets beside her. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Hayley looks up at him and smiles. “Hey.”

“You seem contemplative.”

She breathes out a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah.”

Elijah clocks that she hasn’t actually had any of her coffee. “Is something wrong?”

Hayley doesn’t answer right away. “I just feel like I missed something.” Instead of asking for elaboration, Elijah merely cocks his head to the side and waits. “It’s there, like a word on the tip of my tongue. There was something about…about Joel…” Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees the slightest reaction on Elijah’s face, and she shakes her head. “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t…bring him up.”

“No, please.” Elijah lays a hand atop her leg. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep anything from me.”

“It’s not…I’m not _thinking_ about him, it’s more like…” She finally abandons her coffee, untouched and cold. “When we saw him at the market, I felt like I missed something. Something important. Something that connects the pieces of this mess. But I don’t know what.”

“I’m not quite sure I know what that means.”

“I’m not sure I do either.” Hayley picks up his hand, studies his fingers. “I am happy, you know. Here. With you, and Hope. I don’t have any regrets.”

Elijah smiles softly. “Nor do I,” he murmurs, and then leans in to kiss her cheek.

 

* * *

 

Josh and Leanne arrive at the compound, confused and unsure. Waiting for them in the courtyard is Hope, alone by the fountain. “Come in,” she says, waving them forward. “I need your help.”

“Don’t you want Marcel?” Josh asks.

“And Vincent?” Leanne adds.

Hope shakes her head. “I have tried to get Marcel and Vincent to work with me for months. I’m done trying. I’m asking the two of you to step up as leaders of your communities.”

Josh takes a step back. “I’m not going to go under Marcel just because you’re pissed at him.”

“I’m not asking you to go under Marcel. I’m asking you to do me a favor.”

“What do you need?” Leanne asks, and Josh shoots her a sideways look.

“I need you to communicate to everyone in the Quarter that until I say otherwise, there’s a curfew in New Orleans. No one is to be out in the streets after eleven.”

Josh’s jaw drops in outrage. “The bulk of our guys are _nightwalkers_. They aren’t even able to go outside until sundown!”

“And three of them were just _murdered_ , so make sure you tell everyone that this is for their _safety_.” Josh closes his mouth. “If anyone is caught breaking this curfew, they will be punished by time in the Penitentiary. Is that understood?” The two nod. “Good.”

Leanne says, “What do you think will come of this?”

Hope sighs. “I’m just trying to give everyone enough space to cool off. The witches and the vampires have been at each others’ throats for weeks now, and hopefully some time apart will keep them from annihilating each other.”

Josh and Leanne exchange a look, before Josh says, “Fine. We’ll tell everyone.”

“Thank you.” Hope smiles and watches at they leave, heading out into the early New Orleans evening to implement the curfew.

“That was smart.” She turns to see her mother coming down the stairs. “A curfew will help, but you know it won’t fix things forever.”

Hope nods. “I know. I just need a little time.”

 

* * *

 

“Hope?”

She looks up from her phone, from the incoming updates from the newly deputized Josh and Leanne. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Klaus looks sheepish. “I wanted to…apologize for my behavior this morning. I promised that I would keep violence from our home, and I…” His eyes flick up to the ceiling. “… _may_ have provoked Marcel into retaliation.”

“I don’t care about that, Dad. You and Marcel are adults. You can take care of yourselves.”

Klaus nods, and leans against her doorframe. “And with regards to Marcellus’s… _accusation_ …”

“Just tell me this.” Hope stands up and walks over to her father. She stares him right in the eye. “Tell me that you have _nothing_ to do with the violence taking place in the Quarter.” Klaus’s eyes widen just slightly, and Hope’s heart sinks like a rock. “He was right.”

“Hope—”

“Oh my _god_ —”

“I merely suggested to some nightwalkers that the new status quo of this city is not necessarily in their favor.”

Hope’s eyes are wild. “And you don’t see how that could be a _problem_? For the Quarter? For _me_?”

“The witches of this city put your life in danger when they made you their Advocate! If there are no more witches to whom you can relay your messages…” He shrugs.

“You are _unbelievable_.” Hope pushes past him and storms out, ignoring her father’s call behind her.

 

* * *

 

Elijah strolls casually down St. Peter Street, his suit an inky blue under the dim lights of the bars around him. He keeps a weather eye out on dark corners and down alleys, clocking any sign of movement. His phone is pressed to his ear. “Things are quiet here. It would appear that the residents of the Quarter have heeded your daughter’s warning. I’ll do another pass around Jackson Square, and then return to you. You should get some rest.” He comes to a stop and smiles. “I love you too.”

After hanging up, Elijah slides the phone into his pocket, and then looks to cross Chartres Street. Just as he lifts his foot to step off the curb, a sharp, excruciating pain emanates from the center of his back. He looks down, wide-eyed and breathless, and sees nothing, but when he lifts his hand into the light of a streetlamp, he watches the tips of his fingers gray as he begins to desiccate. Slowly, he turns his head, and in the reflection in the glass of the storefront beside him, he sees a long, wooden arrow protruding from his back. Before he can say a word, he falls to the ground, dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two, episode seven, "Suffocate the Atmosphere," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.
> 
> NB: Tumblr has been deleting posts from my queue over the past few weeks, so if you check the blog Sundays at 8p EST, you may not see the promised chapter posted. I am working to rectify the problem.


	21. Season Two, Episode Seven: Suffocate the Atmosphere

Hayley jerks awake to a loud bang. She blinks rapidly to focus, and it’s only when she hears the rumble of the garbage truck down the street that she realizes what ripped her from sleep. She groans and rolls over, and that’s when she notices the empty half of the bed beside her, still perfectly made. She furrows her brows and looks around the bedroom. “Elijah?” She’s met with silence. There’s no sign of him anywhere.

She gets up, pulls a sweatshirt over her head, and pads out into the hall. “Elijah?” No response. Hayley makes her way through the compound, poking her head through doors, looking for him but coming up empty. When she makes it to Rebekah’s bedroom, she knocks and waits for the quiet, “Come in.”

Hayley pushes open the door. Rebekah is still in bed, her blonde hair strewn wildly across her pillows, and scrolling on her phone. “Hey, have you seen Elijah?”

Rebekah doesn’t look over. “Hayley, I have yet to get out of bed this morning, and I have no plans to do so in the foreseeable future. I have no earthly idea where my brother is, but it’s not in here.”

Hayley makes an unimpressed face. “Did you hear him come in last night?”

“Last I heard he was enforcing Hope’s new curfew.” She finally tears her eyes away from her phone. “Is he not here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he already left. I’ll call him.” She leaves the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind her.

Still making her way through the halls, Hayley pulls her phone out of her pocket. She navigates quickly to Elijah’s contact and dials. She presses the phone to her ear and waits.

“ _You have reached the voicemail of: Elijah Mikaelson. At the tone, please leave a mess—”_

Hayley hangs up with a frustrated sigh. She stares at her phone screen for a minute, debating how worried she actually wants to feel, before tapping out a text. _Hey, call me when you get this_. Then she slides her phone back into her pocket and, an uneasy expression on her face, continues on.

 

* * *

 

Things are swirly when Elijah comes to. This isn’t his first time recovering from a stake to the heart, but judging by the fire surging through his veins, he’s been injected with more than enough vervaine to kill another sort of vampire. That theory is compounded by the searing around his wrists; though he can’t see what’s binding them behind his back, he knows vervaine ropes when he feels them melting off his skin.

He blinks once, twice, and, panting, tries to take stock of his surroundings. He recognizes the vague shape and look of a shipping container—the docks, then. He jockeys himself into a somewhat sitting position, using his shoulder to push himself off of the floor, and hears a cold rattling. His ankles are chained together, and the chain disappears into the dark half of the container.

Elijah’s head tips back against the wall of the container. He focuses his energy on the vervaine ropes; he’s weak, and pulling against the vervaine is excruciating, but if he can just get free—

Sharp footsteps against the metal floors divert Elijah’s attention away from his task. He looks over to see a figure emerging from the darkness. He narrows his eyes and whispers, “I…I know you…”

The figure smiles. “We met a few days ago. We have a mutual friend. Hayley?” He brings his face fully into the light from a tiny hole in the wall. “My name’s Joel.”

 

* * *

 

The entire Mikaelson clan gathers in the courtyard. Hope and River sit close on the edge of the fountain, River’s arm around Hope’s shoulders.

“It’s been _hours_ ,” Hayley says, standing apart from the others. “This isn’t like him.”

Klaus strides in, phone in hand. “He isn’t answering any of us.”

Hayley turns to Freya. “Nothing on the locator spell?”

Shaking her head, Freya answers, “I could feel that he was still in New Orleans, but nothing more specific than that.”

“Same here,” Hope pipes up, voice quiet. “I couldn’t get a read on him.”

From his place leaned up against a wall, Kol drawls, “Well our big brother might be the prissiest of us all, but he doesn’t go down without a fight. Now who do we know who could take down an Original?”

There’s silence, and then Hope murmurs, “Marcel.” All eyes turn to her. “He’s, like, a super-charged vampire, or whatever, and his bite is lethal to all vampires, including Originals. He’s pissed at me right now. Maybe, to teach me a lesson…”

“No,” Klaus insists, shaking his head. “Marcellus would never.”

“Marcel _hates_ Elijah,” Kol says with an eye roll. “He doesn’t need an excuse. One would think tearing his heart out and tossing him off a bridge would be enough to earn some revenge.”

“Enough,” Rebekah snarls. “This isn’t Marcel’s doing.”

Hayley’s already heading for the exit. “It’s worth an ask, don’t you think?”

“Wait.” Hayley stops, and everyone turns to look at Freya. She’s seated, arms crossed in on herself. “I think…I think may know what happened to him.” She takes a deep breath. “There’s a vampire hunter in town.”

 

* * *

 

Elijah shakes his head, partially to clear it, partially in disbelief. “You…you’re…”

Joel leans against the container wall opposite Elijah. “Yeah. Looks like you and I both found ourselves smitten with Hayley. Oh, that isn’t what this is about, by the way. I’m not, like, jealous or anything. God, we slept together, what, eight years ago? Please, I’m just relieved that that kid she was talking about is too old to mine.” He snorts. “Nearly had a heart attack in the middle of the farmer’s market.”

“Then what _is_ this about?” Elijah grits through his teeth.

“Oh right.” Joel rocks himself off of the wall and walks closer. “So, I’m a vampire hunter. I know, I’m a little short to play the part, but I’ve been staking vamps like you since I was eighteen years old.”

“I highly doubt you’ve ever staked a vampire like me.”

“Right, right. You’re an Original. Hadn’t even heard of you until a couple of days ago. See, when my sister got accepted to grad school here in New Orleans, I thought, _This is the perfect opportunity to do some real good_. Everyone knows that New Orleans is crawling with all sorts of supernatural witchery, and I assumed I’d spend my night staking as many vamps as I can.

“That’s when I found out about you.” Joel squats in front of Elijah. “Kill an Original, wipe out their entire line. That’s a lot of vampires in one fell swoop.”

“Genius plan,” Elijah says dryly. “There’s just one problem.”

“And what’s that?”

Elijah stares him right in the eye. “You can’t kill me.”

Joel pushes himself back up with a groan. “Right, right. Original vampires can’t be killed in the usual ways—stake to the heart, beheading, fire, tearing out the heart. That is inconvenient, not going to lie. The only thing that can kill you is white oak.”

“And there’s no white oak left. You’re only…oh, fifteen years too late.”

“Right, right.” Joel digs around in the pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out a tiny vial filled with what appears to be dirt. He carefully extracts the stopper and dumps the vial onto Elijah’s lap. “Maybe not so much.”

Elijah eyes the substance warily. “What is that?”

“I thought you’d recognize it. Heard your aunt Dahlia tried to poison you with it once back in the day.”

Elijah goes very, very still. “Where did you get that?”

Joel shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. What matters…” He grins. “…is that I’m going to kill you with it.”

 

* * *

 

The breath whooshes out of Hope. “I’m sorry, what?”

Rebekah looks aghast. “Freya, how long have you known about this?”

“Just—just a couple of days—”

“A couple of _days_?” Hope leaps to her feet. “Three vampires were staked _yesterday_ and you never thought to bring up that you knew there was a vampire hunter in the Quarter?”

“What the hell, Freya?” Hayley snaps.

Freya takes a deep breath. “There was someone I was…protecting—”

“And what of my daughter?” Klaus’s eyes are boring so hard into Freya it’s a wonder her skull doesn’t burst into flames. “When did you decide to stop protecting her?”

Kol snorts. “That’s rich, coming from the lunatic starting wars in the city just to undermine his daughter’s power.”

Hayley’s head snaps back and forth between them. “Wait, what?”

Hope lets out a strangled groan. “Oh my _god_.” Freya finally looks up to see Hope staring at her. “It’s her, isn’t it?” Freya nods.

Klaus looks bewildered. “Her? Her who?”

“Her name is Amaya.” Freya’s voice is barely above a whisper. “She works at Rousseau’s. We’ve been…seeing each other for a few weeks now.”

Silence reigns. The other Mikaelson siblings exchange glances of varying degrees of surprised, before Rebekah says, “You’ve been dating a woman?”

“Well why the bloody hell should we care about that?” Kol bursts out. “My god, Nik fell for a seventeen-year-old beauty pageant winner back in Mystic Falls and no one batted an eye. Surely we can’t be fazed by _this_.”

Unimpressed, Klaus ignores his brother and says, “I fail to see the connection between this girl and—”

“He’s her brother.” Klaus falls silent. “The vampire hunter is Amaya’s brother. And she doesn’t know—not about him, not about me, not about any of this. And I knew if word got out that it was a vampire hunter was killing people in New Orleans, it wouldn’t be long before someone killed him, and then her brother would be dead—”

“And what of our brother, sister?” Rebekah asks. “What of Elijah? Should he die to spare her feelings?”

“ _No_ , of course not—”

“The threat comes from outside the city.” Everyone turns to look at Hope, confused by her sudden interjection. She’s staring at the ground, thinking hard. “That’s what…that’s what Esther said to me. ‘The threat comes from outside the city, but it will consume our communities, setting them aflame from the inside.’” Hope looks back up at Freya. “It’s him. This burgeoning war between the witches and the vampires, the chaos and the confusion and the fear. You knew what was causing it all and you didn’t say anything. And now my uncle’s life in at risk.”

Freya’s eyes slide close. “I am _so_ sorry—”

“Save it, Freya,” Hayley snarls.

“I’m going to go commune with the ancestors,” Hope says. “See if they can’t get a read on where Elijah is.” She heads for the stairs, River close on her heels.

Rebekah walks over to Hayley and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “Come. We can be of use to Hope.” She leads her after the girls.

Klaus stalks up to Freya. “Tell me everything you know about this hunter. Now.”

“I don’t know much,” Freya insists. “Amaya never spoke much of Joel—”

“Joel?” Hayley comes to a halt and whips around. “The hunter’s name is Joel?”

“Yes.”

The final piece falls into place. “I know exactly who he is.”

 

* * *

 

Joel has his back turned to Elijah, fiddling with something in the darkness. Elijah pulls slightly on the vervaine ropes, but the sizzle of his skin burning off earns a quiet _tut_ from the hunter. “If I have to, I’ll stake you again. But that would just be a waste of both of our time.”

“I’m sure you have some tragic backstory that I would _love_ hear another day,” Elijah says tiredly, “but today I’m just not in the mood. If you let me go, I’ll do my best to ensure that you actually _have_ another day.”

Joel turns around, some sort of device in his hand. “No one’s going to find you here. I got a witch to do a little cloaking spell for me.”

Elijah’s face betrays surprise. “A witch from New Orleans is helping you?”

“Oh no, no one from this city. Well, actually now that you mention it, it _was_ a New Orleans witch who told me all about you and your family. She’s the one who gave me the idea to wipe you all out so I could rid this city of vampires once and for all.”

Impressed, Elijah says, “Quite the operation you’ve got planned. Pity it’ll never work.”

Joel makes a face. “What does that mean?”

“The vast majority of the vampires in this city belong to my brother’s sire line.”

“So?”

Elijah smiles. “My brother’s link to his sire line was severed fifteen years ago. Killing him will do nothing but rob a young girl of her father.”

Joel stares at Elijah for a long time, face impassive. Then he blinks. “Well then, screw New Orleans. You have to have sired vampires wreaking havoc somewhere in the world. I’m thinking more globally than just one shitty city in Louisiana.”

Elijah lets out a dry, breathy laugh. “You should be grateful that it was I who heard that and not my brother.”

“Well you’re not going to get to tell him, because this is the part where I kill you.” Joel presses a button on the device in his hands, and something starts whirring in the dark half of the shipping container. Elijah can hear the air shift, and there’s something heavy about it. Suddenly, he feels it, clinging to his nostrils, to the back of his throat—white oak ash.

He starts to choke, coughing and sputtering uncontrollably. His body screams to _get it out, get it out_ , but the ash is being blown his way, surrounding him in a slowly thickening cloud of poison. Joel leans back against the metal wall of the container, crosses his arms, and watches.

 

* * *

 

After pulling on her second boot, Hayley pushes herself off of the bed and stalks toward the door to her bedroom. She pulls up short, though, when someone appears in the hall. “Out of the way.”

Freya puts out a hand. “I just wanted to apologize—”

“I don’t want to hear your apology,” Hayley snaps. “Not after what you did to Elijah, to me, to _Hope_.”

“I was trying to protect someone I care about—”

“And in the process you let a murderer run free in New Orleans, in the city where my daughter lives.” Hayley shakes her head. “I don’t care if you love this girl or not. You had the choice to stop this guy and you didn’t. That’s the only thing I care about.”

Before Freya can say anything else, Hope appears beside her. Without looking at her aunt, she says, “Uncle Elijah’s somewhere by the docks. The ancestors can’t get more specific. He’s being cloaked.”

Hayley nods. “Okay, stay here. Your father and I are going to go get him.”

She starts to push past Freya, who begins, “I can help—”

“I’m going too.” Hope juts her chin out defiantly. “You’re going to need a witch. I can help.”

“No,” Hayley says emphatically. “It’s too dangerous.”

“What’re you going to do, search every building, every shipping container, every warehouse on the docks? He could be dead by then.”

“We don’t know that this hunter has the means to kill an Original,” Freya points out.

Hope finally looks at her aunt, and her glare is piercing. “No. We don’t. There are a lot of things we still don’t know, things that we might have known if you had chosen to tell us _anything_. But my uncle’s life is on the line, and I’m not taking any chances. So I’m going to go down to the docks, I’m going to find him, and I’m going to bring him home.” She marches down the hall toward the stairs. “And none of you is going to stop me.”

 

* * *

 

The sun glints brightly off of the Mississippi, and Hope holds an open hand over her eyes to shield them from the glare. “There are _thousands_ of places he could be.”

Klaus places a hand on her shoulder. “Anything you could do to get more specific would be a great help, luv.”

Hope nods, and then bows her head as if in prayer. Her parents watch her warily, unsure of what to do. There’s a sound, gradual, as if a breeze coming in from the sea, that only Hope can hear: whispers. She starts to walk, eyes still closed.

Hayley and Klaus exchange a wild look. “Hope?” her mother calls.

“They’re helping me find him,” is the only response. She keeps walking, and her parents, with no other choice, follow.

 

* * *

 

Elijah is coughing heavily, curled over on himself grotesquely as he tries to expel the white oak ash from his body. His throat is closing, growing tighter and tighter, and as he struggles to breathe, he can see his skin start to gray.

Joel coughs too, and lets out a low whistle. “Damn, if I stay in here, this ash just might kill me too. I’ll head out, come back when you’re dead.” He strides for the container entrance without a backward glance at the dying man. The clang of the metal door is deafening as Elijah is left to choke alone.

 

* * *

 

Hayley and Klaus follow Hope through a maze of shipping containers and warehouses, not sure at all where they’re going. They double back when they hit dead ends, or even just when Hope spins around without warning. Each of them want to say something, to ask what she’s hearing, but they let her be, choosing instead to walk behind in uneasy silence.

Finally, Hope stops dead, smack in the middle of a large path between two long rows of containers. Her eyes are still twisted shut, as if she’s listening intently to something. After half a minute, Klaus decides to ask, “Hope? What is it?”

Without a word, Hope’s eyes spring open, and slowly, she lifts up her head.

A few hundred yards down the path stands a man, staring at them with wide eyes. Joel. A growl rips from Hayley’s throat. She takes a step, but Klaus grabs her arm. When she turns, wild-eyed, to glare at him, he says, “You deal with him. Hope and I will find Elijah.”

Having gotten all the confirmation she needs, Hayley tears off in a blur after Joel, who disappears like a rabbit between two containers in terror.

 

* * *

 

Hope’s walking faster now, her father hot on her heels. “He’s dying,” she says, panicked. “I can feel him dying, but I can’t _see_ him—”

“Hope.” Klaus steps in front of her, places his hands on her shoulders to stop her.

“What’re you—”

“Breathe. You are the most powerful witch this city has ever seen. If anyone can find your uncle Elijah, it is you. Believe in yourself. I do.”

Hope nods, and lets her eyes slide shut. She listens as the voices of the ancestors wash over her, a cacophony of chatter and information. She focuses on sifting through the noise, searching for the one thing that can help her find her uncle. Then, out of the blue, a thought: _Blue container, fifty yards due east._

Her eyes open again. “I know where he is.”

 

* * *

 

Joel steps as silently as he can manage, picking his way through the shipping yard like a big cat in its jungle. He knows what Hayley is now, knows how easily it would be for her to track his every move. He keeps to the mosaicked shadows on the ground, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

Still, he can’t help but taunt her. In a low voice, he says, “Gotta admit, you snuck it past me all those years ago. I had no idea you were a bloodsucker. Didn’t even know there was such a thing as a werewolf, either.” There’s a loud bang off to his right, and he flinches violently, but there’s nothing there. Pressing on, he says, “I didn’t mean to shoot your kid, you know. I don’t hunt humans. It was a mistake. I’m glad she’s okay. So I get why you’re pissed, but—”

And then he’s flying through the air, tumbling limb over limb until he crashes onto the pavement and skids. He pushes himself up with a groan, but before he’s back on his feet, a punch like a wrecking ball crashes across his face. He falls again, and this time, before he tries to stand, he whips a small gun out of his pocket. He rolls onto his back and fires, but Hayley dodges the vervaine dart easily.

She stands tall over him, eyes black as night, fangs bared. “You nearly murdered my daughter, and now you’ve taken one of the people I love the most. You think I’m _pissed_?”

Joel swipes a leg out and trips Hayley up. She easily rolls and hops back onto her feet, but when she looks down, he’s gone, up and running between containers again. She rolls her eyes, and a blink later, she’s in front of him, clutching him by the neck. He grabs at her arm, gasping desperately for breath, but her grip is far too strong to break.

She pulls him close and hisses in his face, “I’ll tell your sister you died doing something brave. The lie should bring her some comfort.” Then she sinks her fangs into the scar along his neck, tearing out his throat. Blood spurts all over her, and she drops his corpse to the ground with a satisfying thud.

 

* * *

 

Hope comes to a stop in front of a blue container. “This is it?” Klaus asks. Instead of answering, Hope holds out a hand. The door to the container bursts open, and a gust of air and ash follows it out. Klaus immediately begins coughing, but blurs into the poisoned air anyway. He looks down and sees his brother, his skin nearly completely grayed. Klaus easily snaps the chains around his ankles, then scoops one arm under Elijah’s back and another under his legs and whisks him out of the container and into the clear air.

Klaus lays his brother on the ground, ripping the vervaine ropes from his wrists. “He’s not breathing.”

Hope falls to her knees beside her uncle just as Hayley appears, still splattered with Joel’s blood. She looks down at Elijah, distraught. “Is he…”

“Hold on.” Hope settles her hands about a foot over Elijah’s chest and closes her eyes. After a few seconds, ash starts to rise out of Elijah’s mouth. Suddenly, he’s coughing, hacking up the ash as Hope pulls it from his lungs.

As the gray starts to fade from his skin, Hayley crashes to the ground beside him, pulling his head into her lap. “You’re okay,” she says softly, brushing the ash away from him. “You’re okay.”

Once she’s finished pulling as much ash as she can, Hope stands up. Klaus immediately grabs her and pulls her into a hug. “Thank you,” he breathes into her hair.

Hope wraps her arms around her father’s middle and, face buried in his chest, hugs him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two, episode eight, "Look What You've Done," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	22. Season Two, Episode Eight: Look What You've Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode contains a musical cue. When you come upon a hyperlinked phrase, please click the link to be taken to a YouTube video that will play a song chosen to accompany that scene.

“Alright, focus.”

Hope looks up from the candle, glowering at her uncle. “I _am_ focusing.” She retrains her attention on the flame. She tries to keep her body as still as possible, but her leg is starting to fall asleep, and her nose itches. And then, of course, there are the voices.

Kol watches, unimpressed. “You’re not focusing.”

She lets out a strangled groan and flops back onto the floor of the attic. “This is _pointless_.”

“It _isn’t_ pointless,” Kol insists. “If you’d like not to go crazy before you’re old enough to drink the alcohol you keep slipping, you’d best devote your energies to keeping those ancestors at bay.”

Hope narrows her eyes. “Have you ever fought off hundreds of the most opinionated dead witches in history?”

“Yes, actually, I have.”

“Oh.”

Kol squats down, hovering just above his niece’s head. “I know this is no fun. I know you have a thousand other things you’d rather be doing, but you didn’t see what I saw in Côte d’Ivoire. There was a girl, barely older than you, her life an unending stream of misery because of the duties thrust upon her. I refuse to let that be you.”

Despite herself, Hope quirks a small smile. “And here I was thinking you didn’t like me.”

“I mean, you’re alright.”

Hope rolls her eyes and sits up. “Okay. I’m focusing.”

“Right. Let the flame consume your every sense. Watch it flicker, cast shadows on the walls. Smell the wax melting and pooling. Feel the heat warm your skin.”

Hope starts to feel floaty, as if the tenuous link between her mind and her body is stretching. The candle looms larger in field of view as the outside world falls away. Her skin feels hot as the flame burns brighter, brighter—

_—not over—_

_They’re coming._

_—dumb boy can’t find my grimoire where I left it—_

_Did you see what that Tremé witch did?_

_—It’s not over—_

_—out in the bayou, can you believe this—_

_You tell Vincent this, he should know where to go—_

_It’s not_ over _—_

A hot flash of pain sears across Hope’s skull, and she cries out, clutching at her head. Kol’s immediately kneeling in front of her, hands on her face. “Are you alright?”

Hope nods, despite the throbbing still sending stars behind her eyes. “I don’t think focusing is working, Uncle Kol.”

Kol stays silent for a moment before saying tentatively, “You know, another witch might have a better chance of helping you block out those voices. Another witch like, say, your aunt—”

“No.” Hope stands up, pushing Kol’s hands away. “I don’t want her help. I’ve had enough of her help.”

“Hope—”

“She’s done _enough_ ,” Hope insists. She paces for a minute, working each of her hands with the fingers of the other. After a while, she shakes out all of her limbs. “Okay, let’s try again.”

Kol sighs, and then moves out of the way so Hope can settle cross-legged in front of the candle once more. “Okay, now, _focus_ on the flame…”

 

* * *

 

The sun beams happily on the tiny patio of Mama Rae’s. An untouched coffee and danish on the table before her, Freya ignores the hordes of passersby, mostly eager tourists traveling to their next tour through historic New Orleans. Instead, she stares at the phone in her hand, difficult to see in the bright midmorning light.

“You gonna call her?”

Freya looks up to see Mama Rae hovering over her shoulder, looking significantly at her phone. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve been starin’ at that girl’s contact for five minutes now. Are you gonna call her?”

Freya looks back down. Amaya’s contact entry stares right back at her, the black of the numbers seeming to grow bolder by the second. She shakes her head and clicks the phone off. “Maybe later.”

Mama Rae tuts. “Ain’t gonna win her back with that attitude,” she chides, and then wanders off to check on another table.

Freya regards the phone on the table warily, as if it might spontaneously explode, before picking up her coffee and taking a long, scalding sip.

 

* * *

 

As a gesture of good faith, Hope goes to them, walking into the vampires’ favorite daytime hangout cautiously. All heads snap to her as soon as she creaks open the door. “Close that,” someone snaps. “You’re letting all the light in.”

Hope sneaks inside as unobtrusively as possible, clicking the door closed behind her. “Hi.” Silence. “So, I have good news.”

“You lettin’ Ricky and them outta the Penitentiary?”

“Um, no. They terrorized some witches and did thousands of dollars’ worth of property damage. They are exactly where they’re supposed to be.”

“Those witches’re killin’ us!” someone else shouts.

“But they’re not! That’s the news.” Hope takes a deep breath. “For the past few weeks, there has been a vampire hunter in New Orleans. _He_ was the one killing your friends, and he was the one causing these rifts in our communities. I came here to tell you that he is dead, and that you’re safe again.”

The vampires in the bar eye each other, unsure if they believe her. “What if you’re wrong?”

“This sounds like a convenient story.”

“How do we know you’re not just tryin’ to defend the witches?”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Hope says, “I got to my uncle Elijah _seconds_ before he and his sire line were killed for good. I understand why you might not trust my motives, but trust that I love my family, and I don’t mess around when it comes to keeping them safe. There was a hunter. He is dead. It’s over.”

There’s a light mumbling through the crowd, and Hope can tell there’s a general atmosphere of assent. Still contemplating the sudden revelation of a hunter in their midst, the vampires return to their drinking and darts. Hope’s shoulders sag in relief; they believe her, and maybe the tension in this city can finally ease.

“So, a hunter, huh?”

Hope turns to see Josh off to the side, leaning against the wall. She half-shrugs. “He’d been here since the end of summer. If I had known, I would have told you much sooner.”

“I believe you. These guys will too, once they stop being afraid they’re going to die every time they go out after dark.”

“You know, I’m trusting you to be the one to help them see that the witches aren’t their enemies.”

Shaking his head, Josh begins, “No, that’s Marcel’s job—”

“You’re good at this, Josh. They respect you.”

“They _respect_ Marcel.”

Hope throws up her hands in a shrug. “I’m not saying you should depose him as…whatever he calls himself. King of the vampires. I’m just saying…don’t diminish your sway over them. They listen to you.” With that, she slips back out of the bar into the bright New Orleans sun.

 

* * *

 

[When Elijah wakes up](http://bit.ly/pr2x08-1), the sun is already high in the sky. He can’t remember the last time he slept so late, but then, nearly being murdered tends to take it out of a man. His eyes still closed, he doesn’t have to look over to know when he’s being watched. “Are you staring at me?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly.

There is a soft pair of lips on the bare skin of his shoulder. “I resent the accusation.”

“I’m sure you do.” He turns his head to look at Hayley, who’s looking back with soft eyes. “There’s a face I worried I’d never see again.”

Hayley brings a hand up to rest against his cheek, lets her thumb explore the warmth of his skin. “Fifteen years, I forgot how much loving someone can feel like dying.”

Elijah slides his hand up her arm, takes hers and presses its palm to his lips. “I forgot how much dying can feel like dying.”

Hayley breathes a laugh. Then she shakes her head. “I knew. I knew there was something I missed with Joel. River told us that the man who shot Hope had a scar on his neck, and I _missed_ it.”

“Now I know that I didn’t fall in love with a woman foolish enough to blame herself for the actions of terrible men.”

She lets her head tip to the side to rest against his arm. “Fifteen years I fought to get you back, and I almost lost you.”

Elijah kisses the top of her head. “I am more thankful than ever the gift that is your daughter.”

Hayley hums in agreement, and they lay there, warm in the New Orleans sun.

 

* * *

 

Hope trudges up a rickety wooden staircase, on her way back up into the attic for some more training with Kol. She stops when she hears a voice behind her say, “Hope?”

She turns, and frowns when she spies Freya at the bottom of the stairs. “I can’t talk right now.”

“Kol told me of your efforts to keep the ancestors at bay. Perhaps I can be of some help—”

“Let me be clear.” Hope descends to stand a few steps above the bottom, so she’s staring down at Freya. “I don’t need your help, and I don’t want your help. You had your chance to help me and this city and you shot it down.”

“I made a _mistake_ , Hope, and I am begging for your forgiveness.”

“It’s not mine to give!” Hope cries. “I was asked to defend New Orleans, to speak for the people who live here and who died here! _They_ are the ones who suffered because of what you did, _they_ are the ones who nearly saw war in their streets because you kept this a secret! My forgiveness doesn’t matter, _theirs_ does.”

Freya shakes her head. “I didn’t do it to hurt you, or New Orleans. I did it to protect _her_.”

“I really, really wish that were enough.” Hope spins around and dashes up the stairs, leaving her distraught aunt behind.

 

* * *

 

 

Freya knocks on the apartment door, her fist shaking ever-so-slightly. She has to wait nearly a full minute before the door swings in, revealing Amaya’s face, swollen and red. Freya stares at her, crestfallen. “I wanted to stop by. I…heard about your brother.”

Amaya stares at her. First, it’s as if her gaze slices right through Freya, as if she’s focused on a spot on the wall behind her. Then Amaya’s eyes focus on her, and she croaks, “Come on in.”

Amaya spins and walks away, leaving Freya in the open doorway. Cautiously, Freya steps inside, pressing the door shut behind her. The apartment is littered with tissues, and Joel’s leather jacket, the collar hard and sticky with blood, lays across the couch. Amaya sits next to it, runs her hand over the leather. “I’ve been sitting with my phone since the cops left. I figured…I figured I should tell people that he’s dead. But we don’t have anyone left to tell. He’s got…he’s got some friends, I don’t know them too well. Don’t know how to tell them that he’s—” She barks out a sob, and claps a hand over her mouth.

Freya settles next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”

 

* * *

 

Hope and River walk through the Quarter, side-by-side, people-watching. Hope’s quiet, lost in her own head, so River gently nudges her with her elbow and says, “Thinking about Freya?”

Hope works her jaw tightly. “I’m trying to understand where she’s coming from, I really am. But she _knew_ what was going on in this city and she _chose_ to stay quiet about it.”

Nodding, River points out, “From what I’ve heard, Freya’s always been the big sister. She’s always put her family first. Maybe…maybe this time she wanted something for herself.”

“But it wasn’t just her family that got hurt. It wasn’t just me, or Uncle Elijah, or my mom. It was every vampire, every witch in New Orleans. I mean, god, four nightwalkers are dead, and the Penitentiary is full of people who got caught up in a mess they didn’t even understand.”

“That’s true.” River sighs. “I just…I don’t know. I just can’t help but think about how you defended me when your dad found out that my venom was the key to curing your uncles.”

Hope side-eyes her girlfriend. “Are you taking her side?”

“Hey, no.” River hooks her arm through Hope’s. “I am on _your_ side, all day every day.”

“ _But_.”

“ _But_ …you can be stubborn sometimes.”

Rolling her eyes, Hope argues, “Have you _met_ my family?”

“Yeah, the headstrong apple doesn’t fall far from the ornery tree, point taken. But still. Freya screwed up, and you have every right to be mad at her, but maybe…maybe there are worse crimes in the world than falling in love with someone with a complicated family. I mean, look at me. If I didn’t love you, I would be trying to run _the hell_ away from your crazy-ass relatives.”

Hope wrinkles her nose. “That’s fair.” She pouts. “I hate when you’re right.”

River laughs. “Better get used to it.”

 

* * *

 

Freya passes Amaya a cup of tea, and Amaya takes it with shaking hands. “They wouldn’t let me see him,” she says, voice quiet. “They told me…when they told me it was a hit-and-run, I wanted to go see him, but they said it was too…too bad.”

Freya keeps her expression as schooled as possible. Hit-and-run was what she asked Rebekah to compel the police to tell her, but the lie still hurts all the same. She runs a hand up and down her back. “It’s best you didn’t see it. You should remember him as you saw him last.”

Amaya sniffs. “I wish I knew where he was going.”

“What do you mean?”

“When he left, he seemed…excited. Like he was going to do something big.” She shrugs. “I don’t know what it was, or if he did it. But as least…at least the last memory I have of his face, he was smiling.”

 _On his way to murder my brother,_ Freya thinks. She smiles softly. “That’s good. Hold onto that.”

Amaya side-eyes Freya. “Why are you here?”

Startled, Freya starts to answered, “I told you, I heard about your brother—”

“No, I mean—” She takes a deep breath. “When you walked away from me in the farmer’s market the other day, I thought I was never going to see you again.”

Freya swallows thickly. “So did I. But then I thought about you, alone, mourning this most horrible loss, and I knew…I knew that staying away from you wasn’t an option. Not anymore. Not after…not after everything.”

“I don’t…I don’t know what that means.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just…just know that I’m sorry. For Joel, for the way I treated you, for…everything. I’m sorry and, if you’d like, I could…be here for you. In whatever capacity you need. A—a friend, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen—or, if you’d rather, I can leave you be. Whatever makes things easier for you.”

Amaya stays silent for a long time, studying the whorls of the wood grain of the coffee table. Then she says, “My parents are dead. My brother is dead. I’m living in a city of strangers.” She looks up at Freya. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

And then she tips her head onto Freya’s shoulder, and Freya, heart heavy, rests her own head on top of hers.

 

* * *

 

Klaus finds his elder brother in the dining room, alone at the long table, a glass of bourbon in hand. Elijah sips casually as his brother pours a glass of his own. “How are you feeling, brother?” Klaus asks, settling in a seat across from Elijah.

“Oh, I can’t complain. I could very well be dead right now, were it not for your daughter.”

“I imagine we shall all get used to Hope saving us before long.” Klaus smirks devilishly. “From what I could hear, Hayley was quite relieved that you returned to us safe and sound last night. She was relieved _several_ times, in fact.”

“Niklaus…” Elijah groans with a put-upon sigh.

Klaus waves him off with a laugh. “Fine, fine. I suppose you’ve earned a day or two of respite from your bastard brother’s reign of terror.”

“If only I knew it took nearly dying for you to behave yourself.”

After a few more sips of bourbon, Klaus asks, “Have you spoken with our sister?”

Elijah stares into his glass. “I assume you’re referring to Freya.” He looks up at Klaus. “I’m not angry with her.”

Klaus seems surprised. “You were moments from death, Elijah. And Freya knew—”

“Freya owes us nothing, brother. Since she was rejoined with our family all those years ago, Freya has sought only to put her siblings before herself, a dedication to the Mikaelson name that rivals even my own. I do not begrudge her the choice of putting someone else’s wellbeing above ours for once. After all…” He raises his glass to his lips once more. “…I know the peculiar madness of being in love.” He takes a long sip.

Klaus makes a face. “We don’t know that Freya loves this girl.”

Elijah just smiles. “Yes, we do.”

 

* * *

 

Amaya’s curled up on her couch, her brother’s jacket clutched tightly to her chest. Something thumps her ankle, and she looks down and sees a lump in the jacket. After rooting around in the pocket, she pulls out her brother’s phone. It flickers to life, and her eyes well up at his background image, a photo of the two of them at the county fair when they were teenagers. She blinks rapidly and unlocks the phone—it only takes her two guesses to figure out that his passcode is the year he was born; he never was particularly clever—so that she can search through his contacts. She sees a name scattered throughout his recent calls list: Sebastian Sharpe. She decides to give it a go, and presses the phone to her ear. “Hi, is this Sebastian? My name is Amaya Ruiz. I’m Joel’s sister. I, um. I have some bad news.”

 

* * *

 

**Steptoe, Nevada**

Standing in his kitchen, Sebastian Sharpe hangs up the phone. He strokes a tired hand over his gray-flecked beard, and then makes his way down the hall. He wrenches open a door to reveal a set of stairs descending into darkness below. He flips on a light switch and makes his way down into a half-finished basement. Once there, he gropes around the wall for another switch, and suddenly the entire space is flooded with light. He passes the table heavy with weapons—crossbows, handguns, knives, expertly-carved stakes—and shoves the shoulder of a man on a cot. “Wake up.”

The man groans. “Go away. I’ve only been down an hour.”

“Wake up. Joel’s dead.”

The man sits up, stunned. “Joel’s dead?”

“His sister just called. Hit-and-run.”

They’re silent for a moment. Then, “I knew that harebrained plan of his was going to get him killed.”

“Get up, Jordan, and call the others.” Sebastian walks back over to the table, selects a gun, and slides it into the back of his jeans. “We’re going to New Orleans.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two, episode nine, "Break Me on This Lonely Road," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	23. Season Two, Episode Nine: Break Me on This Lonely Road

A large pickup truck, black as night, rumbles through the Louisiana bayou, its enormous tires crunching easily over the brambles. Affixed to the hitch is a rather large camper, big enough to house several people. Together they weave through the trees, sending fauna scattering, before rolling to a stop in the middle of a clearing. The engine cuts, but all is not quiet as a caravan of other vehicles, trucks and cars and Jeeps, appears from behind, cutting the same path as the truck.

When the circle of vehicles finally quiets, Sebastian Sharpe steps out of the black truck, his boots snapping twigs as he lands on the ground. Soon, others follow suit, climbing out of their cars and trucks. There are dozens of them, people of various shapes, sizes, colors, and genders, all dressed in a manner that suggests that perhaps they might have to survive an apocalypse at some point in the near future. And then, of course, there are the weapons.

Everyone in the clearing has at least two weapons on their person; there are knives tucked in boots, peashooters strapped to ankles, crossbows slung across backs, pistols wedged into belts. There are enough weapons in this clearing to supply a well-organized militia—which is exactly what this is.

Sebastian opens his arms and gestures widely to the people looking at him. “This’ll do,” he calls. “We’ll set up camp here.” He smiles up at the trees, hazy in the soft sunlight of dawn, and smirks. “Yeah. Yeah, this seems like a fine spot to begin the end of the vampire species.”

 

* * *

 

The sun has barely crested over the horizon when Marcel approaches his apartment building. He’s not looking up as he walks to the front doors, tapping at his phone in his hand. He’s writing a response ( _Damn, at least let me take you to dinner first.)_ to Rebekah’s last text ( _Bite me._ ), but before he can hit send, there’s a low _thwap_. He looks down, and the barest, bloody tip of an arrow is protruding from his chest. He rolls his eyes, and the curse is half-formed on his lips when the phone tumbles to the ground, his body, desiccated, following soon after.

Jordan walks over to him, eyes narrowed. He gestures for his few comrades to step forward. “Come on. Get ‘im in the truck. We’ll want to get him back to camp before he wakes up and kills us.”

 

* * *

 

The compound is quiet, and Freya pads through the courtyard as silently as possible. She’s nearly at the entryway when a voice from above calls down, “Where are you headed?”

Her head snaps up, and Klaus is on the first floor balcony, staring down at her. “I didn’t realize you were suddenly in charge of my whereabouts, Niklaus.”

In one deft move, Klaus launches himself over the balcony rail and lands in front of his elder sister. “You’re leaving to go see _her_.”

Freya can feel the anger rippling off of Klaus. “That’s hardly your business.”

“Our brother nearly _died_ because of your attachment to this girl!”

“Nik!” They both turn to see Rebekah storming down the stairs. “Leave our sister alone.”

“How can you defend her, Rebekah?” Klaus argues, gesturing wildly. “She betrayed this family—”

“An offense you yourself have committed countless times over the centuries.” She comes to a stop by Freya’s side. “Where exactly did you find this moral superiority you so desperately cling to now? Freya made a _choice_ , a liberty you have so rarely granted me during our years together. Disagree with her all you want, she is still our fiercest defender _and_ our sister.” Rebekah loops her arm through Freya’s. “She deserves happiness, wherever she might find it.”

Klaus looks properly scolded, and Rebekah takes his silence as an opportunity to guide Freya toward the front gates. Rebekah kisses her cheek. “I am glad you have found someone to make you happy, sister.”

Freya smiles. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Rebekah.”

Rebekah rolls her eyes. “I have been the great betrayer of Klaus Mikaelson more times than I care to remember. I’d be happy to share the title with someone else for once.”

“I can still _hear_ you,” Klaus calls.

“Oh, sod off,” Rebekah snaps. Then she gives Freya a little nudge. “Go. Be with the girl you love.”

“I don’t know if I—”

“Yes, you do.”

Freya nods, and then disappears onto the busy New Orleans street.

 

* * *

 

Marcel wakes slowly, and then very suddenly. His jaw is aching horribly, and he reaches up to claw at the mask on his face. Whatever it is, it’s tugging painfully at his fangs, and feels like it’s squeezing the life out of him.

Despite the pain, he pushes himself up onto one elbow, and tries to take stock of his situation. He’s in a small space—a camper, he gathers, similar to those that the Crescents live out of in the bayou. The space is littered with papers, old leather-bound tomes, and piles and piles of weapons. Marcel recognizes an arsenal dedicated to hunting vampires; he hasn’t seen this many stakes in years.

He shifts, and there’s a clanking sound; his feet are chained to the wheel well of the camper, with only a few inches of slack. He yanks on the chain, but even his considerable strength, weakened though he is, can’t break it.

His focus returns to the mask. He can feel his fangs, not willingly bared, being wrenched from his gums, as though they’re barely hanging on by a thread. He hasn’t known this exquisite a pain in quite some time, and he has no idea what’s going on. His hands grab at the mask, but they trip over two long, clear hoses. Amber liquid drips through, and Marcel’s startled to see his own venom. Angry, he makes to rip off the mask, but it doesn’t budge an inch; it’s been spelled onto his face.

Livid, Marcel lets out a low growl. Someone is stealing his venom, and when he finds out who, he’s going to tear their head from their body.

 

* * *

 

When Freya walks into Amaya’s apartment, there are stacks of paper everywhere. Amaya herself is lost on the couch, flipping through a large binder spread on her lap. Freya drops her jacket onto a chair and settles next to Amaya. “This is all for his funeral?”

Amaya nods. “They do things so differently in New Orleans. I mean, there are plenty of Catholic churches, so I’m not worried about that, but the funeral procession is so…much.” She sighs. “Back home it’s so much quieter.”

Freya runs a hand up and down her back. “You don’t have to have the whole New Orleans…experience. You knew your brother best. No one would know better than you how to honor his life.”

Setting the binder of caskets aside, Amaya reaches onto the coffee table and retrieves a stack of photographs. “I had all these printed today. I didn’t know…I didn’t know which ones I wanted to use. Should it be just him, or the two of us? I have a few of our entire family, but when our house burned down we lost most of those.”

Freya peeks over her shoulder at the photos as Amaya flips through them. They’re mostly of Joel and Amaya within the past few years. She sees the light in Amaya’s eyes, the happiness as her brother tosses her into a pool. She can also see the way Joel looks at her, a fierce kind of love that only eldest siblings could hope to understand. A hot wave of guilt washes over her, and she points at a photo to distract herself. “When was this one taken? He doesn’t have that scar here.”

Amaya freezes, then turns very slowly to stare questioningly at Freya. “How did you know about his scar?”

Freya’s eyes go wide. “You told me about it.”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t tell you really anything about Joel. I was going to wait and see how…how serious we were before I brought you two together. Did you know him?” Her voice is accusatory. “Did you know my brother?”

Scrambling for answers she doesn’t have, Freya says, “I think I ran into him once. When leaving here. It’s not important, not when you have so many things on your plate—”

“Why are you lying to me?” Amaya stands up, sending papers scattering.

“Amaya, listen…” Freya stands too. “Your brother…he wasn’t exactly who you thought he was.”

“Who I thought he was? What the hell is that supposed to mean? He was my _brother_.”

“And your brother tried to kill mine!” Amaya’s face blooms in shock at Freya’s outburst. Freya says quickly, “Your brother was…he was a vampire hunter, and he tried to kill my brother. I know you loved him and I am so, so sorry for the fact that you’ve lost him, but he was a killer, and he had to be stopped.”

Amaya’s blinking rapidly, eyes searching as she tries to process everything she’s hearing. Eventually, in the softest voice, she asks, “Did you kill him?”

“I—no. It wasn’t me.”

“But who know who it was.”

A long pause. “Yes.”

Amaya nods. “Okay. Okay.” She reaches down and grabs Freya’s jacket off of the couch. She shoves it into Freya’s chest. “Get out.”

“Amaya—”

“No. Get out. Get the hell out. I don’t know about—about vampires and vampire hunters—you sound insane. I want you out of my apartment and out of my life.”

Freya’s face betrays her heartbreak. “Amaya, please…”

“He was my _brother_.” Amaya’s voice cracks, and her eyes are brimming with tears. “My _brother_. The only person I had left. He was my brother.”

And in a thousand years, Freya has never felt so small.

 

* * *

 

Marcel’s still tugging on the mask strapped to his face when the door to the camper creaks open. He stops and glares. Sebastian walks up to him and smiles down. “How’re we doing?”

Though it hurts to talk, Marcel winces and says, muffled, “I can’t wait to kill you.”

With a laugh, Sebastian replies, “Not likely. We know we can’t kill _you_ —yet, because we’ve definitely got people working on that—but we don’t want you dead. In fact, you’re so valuable to the cause, you’ll probably be the last vampire in the world to die.”

Marcel’s eyes narrow. “And why is that?”

“Because your venom is more valuable to us than gold.”

“And what exactly are you going to do with my venom?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?” He crouches down so he’s staring Marcel right in the face. “We’re going to wipe out the Original vampires, and their sire lines with them.”

 

* * *

 

When Freya walks back through the compound, she’s quiet. She keeps her eyes affixed to the ground, hoping to just disappear into her bedroom for a while. She’s crossing the courtyard when she hears a quiet voice from above. “Aunt Freya?”

Freya looks up, and Hope on the balcony above, watching her tentatively. “Hope?”

Hope starts, “Can I…” Then she sees her aunt’s face. “Are you okay?”

Freya’s eyes dart away. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Hope jerks her head toward her bedroom. “Come on. Let’s talk.”

 

* * *

 

Sebastian tugs on one of the tubes winding out of Marcel’s mask. It’s nearly completely empty. “Looks like we’ve dried you out.” He calls over his shoulder, “Lorena!”

The camper door swings open, and a young woman with large eyes and dark hair enters. Sebastian smiles at her. “Please remove our friend’s mask. We need to give him time to let his venom stores replenish.”

“Sure thing.” Lorena glides over to Marcel and kneels in front of him. She places her hands on either side of his mask and bows her head. There’s a low heat that simmers across Marcel’s skin, and then the mask slides easily off of his face.

He narrows his eyes. “A witch helping vampire hunters? A little cliché, don’t you think?”

Lorena smiles. “I would think that if anyone understood the enmity between witches and vampires, it would be the once-great king of New Orleans.” She pats his shoulder condescendingly, but when she does, she seizes up, stare going blank.

“Lorena?” Sebastian crouches down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

The girl is silent, and Marcel watches her warily until her eyes pop open, and her hand drops away from his shoulder. “There’s a girl.”

Sebastian looks confused. “A girl? What girl?”

“A wolf. Lovely curls.” She looks at Sebastian. “She is the key to curing a vampire of his venom.”

Marcel goes very still as Lorena mentions River. He’s known, of course, that as long as she’s alive, there will always be an antidote to his venom, but lately he hasn’t been overly interested in using it to kill anyone. Sebastian eyes him. “Who is she?” Marcel says nothing. “Whatever. There are only so many wolves in this swamp town. We’ll find her.” He pushes himself to his feet, leaving a silently seething Marcel on the ground.

 

* * *

 

Hope sits cross-legged on her bed, her aunt in a chair opposite her. She plays with fingers in her lap. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About what you did. About what I’ve done. About the things we do for the people we love.” She looks up at Freya. “You do love her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Freya breathes. “Yes, I do.”

Hope nods. “I figured. You don’t keep that kind of secret for a fling.” She lets out a little laugh. “I’m not too good at this, this…running a city thing. I made a pretty big mess of things.”

“You’re trying your best,” Freya argues, “and I think there’s little more anyone could ask of you.”

A half-hearted shrug. “Maybe. But that’s not the point. The point is…it’s been…a year and change since I first met River, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her from this world. It’s a big thing, to love someone like that. It makes you…redefine what your family is, what it means to you.”

“Here parents died,” Freya says, “when she was twelve. They were killed by vampires. Joel…her brother…he knew. It’s why he became a hunter in the first place. When I found out what he had been doing in town, I knew he was going to have to die. I knew the only option we were going to have was to kill him, and I just…” She sighs. “I just wanted to spare her that grief for as long as I could.”

Hope stews on that for a moment. “You know…if River hadn’t volunteered her venom, if she had said no when I asked her to help my mom and I cure Uncle Elijah and Uncle Kol…I don’t think I could have let my mom force her.” She shakes her head a little. “I would have let all of you stay in the Chambre de Chasse if it meant keeping her safe. So I guess we’re not that different after all.” She smiles. “I guess we’re both pretty terrible Mikaelsons.”

Freya gives a little smile in return, and then tries to surreptitiously flick a tear away. Hope makes a concerned face. “What’s wrong?”

Freya shakes her head. “Amaya knows. About her brother, and why he died. I didn’t mean to tell her, it just…came out.”

“Oh.” Hope chews on her lip. “I bet it didn’t go so well.”

“No. No…she hates me now.”

“I’m so sorry, Aunt Freya.” Hope crawls off of the bed and hugs her aunt. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Freya squeezes her niece in return. “I’m sorry, too, Hope. For all of it.”

 

* * *

 

River and Hope are sitting together in the courtyard, taking turns tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths. A kernel bounces off of River’s nose, and Hope lets out a barking laugh, tossing her head back and nearly falling out of her chair. River makes a face, and chucks a whole handful of popcorn at her girlfriend.

“Hope?”

The two look away from their popcorn war to see Josh standing the shadow near the entry. Hope grins and waves him over. “Hey Josh! What’s up?”

Josh walks closer, face uncertain. “Have you seen Marcel lately?”

Hope looks to River, who merely shrugs. “No…sorry. I haven’t talked to him in a while. Why?”

“He wasn’t answering his phone all day, so I just headed over to his place to see what he was up to, and…” Josh reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone, the screen cracked like a lightning strike. “I…think he’s in trouble.”

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for meeting with me.” Amaya sits at a corner table in Mama Rae’s, a steaming mug of tea in her hands. She studies the liquid inside intently. “I realize…I realize now that the police lied to me about the circumstances of my brother’s death. It wasn’t a hit-and-run. He was murdered. He was killed because he was…” Her eyes dart around circumspectly, before she lowers her voice. “He was a vampire hunter, wasn’t he?”

Sebastian smiles sadly and nods. “Your brother was a good friend and an excellent fighter. We’re all gonna miss him.”

“All? How many of you are there?”

Sebastian leans back in his seat, spinning his coffee cup on the table. “Your brother was a member of one of the largest and most covert networks of vampire hunters in the world. We’ve been travelling the continent for decades, rooting out vampire infestations from the Yukon all the way down to Panama. There are hundreds of us, scattered all over the place, with the single goal of making the world safer for humans to live in.”

Amaya’s eyes go wide as she takes Sebastian’s words in. “Yesterday I was just a grad student trying to live in a world without my brother. Now I live in a world with vampires. It’s all…it’s a lot. It’s a lot more than I bargained for.”

“Listen, Amaya, you’re smart. You’re young. You’ve got a long life full of potential in front of you. The way I see it, you have two options. You can keep living your life, going to grad school, being the person you always thought you would be, just without Joel in your life.” She winces. “Or you can join us.”

Amaya’s eyebrows fly upward. “Join you?”

“A group of us have rolled into town to fight the scourge of vampires in New Orleans. We could use your help.” Sebastian leans in, talking low and earnestly. “You could avenge your brother’s death, make the undead of this city pay for what they’ve taken from you. Help us eliminate the vampires from New Orleans, and then you can move on without fear of losing someone else you love.”

Amaya thinks briefly of Freya, but then shakes her head to clear it. “I’ve lost everyone I love. There’s no one left. What do you need me to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two, episode ten, "What a Life, What a Waste," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	24. Season Two, Episode Ten: What a Life, What a Waste

Back in the attic, Hope is this time surrounded by both an uncle and an aunt. Kol lounges lazily against the wall, munching on an apple, as Freya wafts a burning bundle of sage around the space. From her place cross-legged on the floor, Hope watches skeptically. “Do you really think sage is going to keep the ancestors from talking to me?”

“I’m cleansing the air,” Freya explains. “I want you to start with a fresh headspace when we begin our work. This won’t drive them away, but it will keep things quiet as we go.”

Hope’s eyes flick over to Kol, who merely shrugs and takes another chunk out of his apple. Freya finishes her cleansing and sets the sage down, picking up a mortar filled with a dull mound of crushed herbs. Hope eyes it suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“Devil’s claw and lemon balm. It’s a classic witch’s recipe. Together they’ll dispel unwanted psychic energy.” Freya presses her thumb into the herbs, and then places a simple dot in the center of Hope’s forehead. “There. Now we should be ready to begin.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Kol says. “We’ve been here half an hour already.”

“At least I came with a plan more sophisticated than  _focusing on a candle_ ,” Freya snarks back. She smiles down at Hope. “Now, close your eyes.” Hope acquiesces. “Let down the barrier you’ve created between yourself and the ancestors. Let the voices come as they come. Let them wash over you.”

Hope takes a few deep breaths, and then slowly, the low hum of voices in the back of her mind grows louder, as if someone is turning the dial on a stereo. Soon, they’re so loud that she can barely hear Freya say, “Breathe in, and then exhale, and create a space of silence around yourself.”

Unsure, Hope breathes in deeply, and when she lets out a long, slow breath, she opens her eyes—only to find her aunt and uncle mysteriously gone. “Aunt Freya? Uncle Kol?” Hope looks around, and she can feel that something isn’t right. The colors of the attic are wrong, washed out and hazy. “Oh no.”

“Hello, Hope.”

She turns and sees her, resplendent in white. “Hi, Esther.”

Her grandmother smiles warmly. “I have a message for you.”

“At least I didn’t have to almost die this time to hear it,” Hope says with a sigh. “What’s up?”

“What is up is that your danger has not passed.”

Hope quirks an eyebrow. “I’m gonna need some more specifics.”

“We warned you before that the threat to New Orleans would come from outside the city. This is still true.”

“I don’t understand.” Hope pushes herself up off the floor. “My mom killed the hunter. No one’s killing vampires anymore. Everything should be better.”

Esther’s smile turns sad. “The hunter your mother killed was not working alone. There are more. Many, many more.”

Hope runs a hand through her hair. “Okay. Okay. So more hunters are coming.”

“They’re not coming. They’re already here.”

Hope’s jaw drops. “Thanks for the advance notice!”

Unfazed, Esther points out, “It would be a lot easier to tell you things if you didn’t devote so much of your energies to blocking us out.”

With a disbelieving laugh, Hope argues, “Did you all miss what Kol told us about that Advocate in the Ivory Coast? She’s a vegetable. If you want an Advocate who can actually, you know,  _advocate_ for you, you have to leave me alone until it’s important.”

“It’s all important to these people, Hope! New Orleans witches have long been able to commune directly with their ancestors, and now that all communication must run through you, you must hear all of it.”

“I’m going  _crazy_ , Esther,” Hope says, voice begging. “I need to do this or I won’t be able to help anyone.”

Esther nods. “Perhaps we can try harder to…censor ourselves. But this, what I’ve told you today? This is the most important thing.”

“Yeah, I’d say a horde of vampire hunters descending on New Orleans is pretty damn important. Alright, I’ll go sound the alarm.”

“Thank you.” Esther walks over to Hope and, with a smile, says, “Take care, Hope,” and presses her hand to Hope’s forehead.

Hope blinks, finds herself once more in the attic, with her aunt and uncle hovering over her. “Um, hi.”

“Are you alright?” Freya demands, hands moving over her niece’s face in worry.

“Where did you go?” Kol asks.

“Where did I…how long was I out?”

“A few minutes,” Freya answers. “But you were unresponsive.”

“I was talking to Esther.”

Freya’s face grows cold, and Kol rolls his eyes. “What did that old bat have to say?”

Hope looks between the two. “Our hunter troubles aren’t over yet.”

 

* * *

 

Sebastian leans out of the camper hitched to his trunk. “Lorena!” The young witch turns from Jordan and walks up to the camper. “I need more information about this werewolf girl. I had some guys keep an eye on this pack throughout the night, but no one looked like the description you gave.”

Lorena nods. “I’ll need contact with the vampire.”

Sebastian steps out of the way, and Lorena enters the camper. She strides over to Marcel, who’s still chained the floor, the venom mask once again magically affixed to his face. His eyes narrow dangerously as she approaches. She kneels down. “Good morning.”

“Go to hell,” he mumbles painfully.

With a smile, Lorena places a hand on either side of Marcel’s head. She closes her eyes and concentrates. She gets flashes, but there seems to be little in Marcel’s head about the curly-haired werewolf girl. There is another girl, with bright red hair, who appears beside the wolf a number of times, but she’s not the one they’re after. She focuses harder, trying to listen as well as see.

“Her name,” Lorena says, eyes still closed. “Her name is…River.”

Sebastian tries not to look annoyed. “I need more than a name, Lor.”

Lorena’s eyes open in irritation. “I get what I get, Bash. I don’t get to ask questions.” Then an idea strikes her. “But I might have a better plan.”

Interest piqued, Sebastian asks, “What’s that?”

Lorena smiles down at Marcel. “I’m going to need some of his venom.”

 

* * *

 

The family is gathered in the library, everyone facing Hope as she explains the situation. “All I know is what Esther told me. There are more vampire hunters in town.”

“Why would these dead witches want to warn us about vampire hunters?” Klaus asks, suspicious. “Would it be beneficial to their progeny to let these hunters do what they do best?”

Hope narrows her eyes. “I told you. Everyone else in this city is actually on board for a serious attempt at peace. Last time we had a hunter running around, the witches and the vampires nearly went to war. No one wants a repeat of that.”

“I don’t suppose your grandmother gave you any specifics,” Elijah says. “Their numbers, their location.”

Shaking her head, Hope answers, “Unfortunately no. I think the best course of action would be to alert everyone to the danger and keep our wits about us as we gather more information. There’s no need to go off half-cocked and get ourselves killed.”

River stands up from her place on one of the couches. “I’ll head out to the bayou.”

“These are vampire hunters,” Rebekah points out. “The wolves have been safe thus far.”

“Still, someone should fill Rose in, and you never know when these hunters are going to grow bored of just killing one species.”

Hope nods. “Alright. You take Rose, I’ll let Vincent and Josh know.”

“Still no word from Marcel?” Hayley asks.

“No. I’m trying to decide how worried I want to be. It’s not like he’s killable.” She reaches out to tug River in for a kiss on the cheek. “You head out. The sooner Rose knows the better.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a tiny fold-out kitchen table in the camper, and that’s where Lorena’s set up. She has a map of Louisiana spread out as much as she can, the edges spilling over the tabletop. She looks up at Sebastian, who’s watching her carefully. “Do you have it?”

Sebastian sets a small vial of Marcel’s venom in her outstretched hand. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

“Nope.” Lorena carefully pours the venom in a circle on the map. “This is a complete guess. But if she’s the only wolf of her pack, then using the Malraux venom in  _his_  venom should lead us only to her. Or this could be a complete waste of time.” She shrugs. “It’s magic, what more do you want from me?”

“Fair enough.”

Lorena hovers her hands over the surface of the map and closes her eyes. “ _Phasmatos tribum, nas es veras, sequitas sanguinem. Phasmatos tribum, nas es veras, sequitas sanguinem._ ” She carries on like this for a little while, the venom remaining staunchly in place around Louisiana. Sebastian lets out a disappointed sigh, sure that the plan didn’t work, but then the venom starts to move.

“It’s working,” he says, excited, but Lorena ignores him, continuing on with her spell.

The venom makes a sizzling trail across Louisiana, congealing in one place in the middle of the bayou. Lorena stops her chanting. “There.”

Sebastian’s eyes dart between the map and the witch. “There? There’s nothing there. You can’t get more specific?” Lorena shoots him a warning glare, and he backs off. “Fine. I’ll get a couple of guys with ATVs to run out that way, see if we can’t find her.” He makes for the door.

Marcel shouts something muffled, and both Lorena and Sebastian turn to look at him. “What do you want?” the hunter asks, bored.

Lorena walks to Marcel and uses her magic to remove his mask. He pants, finally free of the pain, and says, “Are you really going to kill a teenage girl?”

Sebastian rolls her eyes. “She’s a werewolf who’s triggered the curse, so it’s not exactly like she’s citizen of the year. Besides, how many teenage girls do you reckon the Original vampires have killed in their many lifetimes?”

“Too many to count. Does River deserve to die for that?”

Sebastian looks away, but says, “She’ll be a sacrifice for the greater good. With her out of the way, the Original vampires won’t be able to cure themselves of your venom, and we’ll be ridding the world of thousands of killers.”

“You’re the most despicable of us all,” Marcel spits.

Sebastian gestures to the vampire chained up. “Put that mask back on him and shut him up.” Then he shoves the door open and exits the camper.

 

* * *

 

River finds her weaving through the trees, her shoulder slumped with a heavy backpack. She starts to jog to catch up. “Rose! Hey Rose!”

Rose doesn’t turn. “Busy.”

Rolling her eyes, River slows to a walk beside the alpha. “Yeah I see that. Where are you going?”

She makes a vague gesture up ahead. “There are some older Crescents who live farther away from the main pack. I check in on them from time to time, see if they need anything.”

With a small smile, River says, “You’re a good alpha, you know that?”

Rose merely shrugs. “What’d you need?”

“Right. Well, remember that vampire hunter I told you about?”

“The one whose sister was dating your girlfriend’s aunt?” Rose snorts. “You city folk lead interesting lives.”

 _She’s not wrong_ , River thinks. “Anyway, it turns out that that hunter wasn’t alone.”

Rose side-eyes her. “What does that mean?”

“According to the ancestors? There are more. Here. In New Orleans.”

“And they’ve been here the whole time?”

“That’s not what it sounded like, but honestly I don’t know. Listen, I just came out to give you a head’s up.”

Rose comes to a stop. “Why would we need a head’s up? They’re  _vampire_  hunters. Last time I checked, there weren’t many vampires slumming it out here in the bayou.”

Stopping too, River points out, “Some wolves have moved into the city in the past few months. And besides, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask everyone to be on the alert. For all we know, some of these hunters are equal-opportunity murderers.”

“True.” Rose begrudgingly gives her a smile. “Thanks for the warning.”

River beams. “We wolves have to stick together, right?”

Instead of answering, Rose rolls her eyes and keeps walking. River follows suit, and starts to ask, “So where do these wolves—” when a loud, echoing gunshot cuts her off, and bark explodes off of the tree four feet to her right. Both women freeze, and then another gunshot rings out, and another, and Rose shouts, “RUN!”

The two dash between the trees, bobbing and weaving through the hail of bullets raining down on them. They seem to be coming from every direction, and following them as they move. Branches fall, and dirt sprays up around them as they run. About half a mile of running in a blind panic, the two collapse behind an old fallen tree, stopping to catch their breath.

“Are these the hunters?” Rose pants.

River shoots her a look. “I think it’s safe to say they’re not park rangers.”

Rose peeks over the top of the log. “Why are they shooting at us?”

“I don’t know!”

Another bullet goes whizzing past, and Rose whips back down out of view. “We can’t stay here, come on.” She grabs River by the arm, and the two take off running again.

 

* * *

 

Amaya walks uneasily through the hunters’ campsite, staring in awe at the sheer number of vehicles. There must be several dozens of hunters in the bayou, some working out, some shooting arrows at targets, some whittling stakes. Amaya jumps in surprise as a small group lets out a loud cheer, one of their members hit a perfect bullseye on a target constructed from hemp rope and charcoal.

She finds the camper she’s looking for and knocks on the door. It swings open, revealing Sebastian on the tiny staircase. “Oh hey. You made it.”

Amaya nods. “Yeah, thanks for telling me about this place.” When Sebastian steps out of the way, she enters the camper. “I wanted to talk to you about…” She trails off when she sees Marcel chained to the floor at one end, mask sucked to his face. “What…?”

“Oh.” Sebastian gestures to his guest. “Don’t worry about him. He’s just a tool in our plan.”

“Right…” Amaya says slowly. She manages to rip her eyes away from the miserable vampire. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to know your plan to avenge my brother.”

“Hold on.” Sebastian opens the door again and leans out to yell, “Can someone keep me updated on what’s going on with the wolf situation?” He doesn’t even wait for a response for slamming the door shut. “Sorry, there’s a lot going on right now. We’re trying to get our ducks in a row.”

Amaya watches as he starts shuffling papers around, looking for something. “Have you figured out who killed Joel? I know…I know someone who knows but I doubt she’ll tell me. Not after…” She shakes her head. “Not after everything.”

“What?” Sebastian barely looks up from his work. “Sorry, I don’t have time to really talk right now.”

She looks affronted. “How do you not have time to talk about my  _dead brother_? You said that if I helped you, you’d help me make the people who killed him pay. He was  _one of you_ , and he was killed—”

“Your brother was killed because he was an idiot!” Amaya falls silent. “Your brother thought he was Rambo and it got him killed. We  _told_  him not to go after the Original vampires by himself, we  _told_  him to wait for the rest of us, and he went and picked a fight with the most dangerous vampires in history anyway. So my sincerest apologies for your loss, but my focus right now is not on avenging the death of a moron. I have too many other people to worry about.” And with that, Sebastian grabs a fistful of papers and storms out of the camper, leaving a distraught Amaya to stand in stunned silence.

 

* * *

 

River and Rose are flying through the woods, hurtling over bushes and fallen branches. From every direction bullets come flying, hunters popping out from behind trees to take shots at them. River’s lungs are starting to burn from the exhaustion, and she pants, “We have to turn!”

“I can’t!” Rose cries, ducking an arrow as it whizzes past. “I don’t have a ring!”

River curses. “I  _told_  you—”

“Maybe lecture me later!” A pause. “You turn!”

River nearly stumbles in her surprise. “What?”

“If you turn—” She dodges a low-hanging branch. “—you can get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you behind!” River shouts.

Rose spots a thick row of elderberry bushes and pulls River behind them. They heave to catch their breaths. “Get out of here,” Rose insists.

“ _No_. Not a chance in hell.”

Lowering her voice to a hiss, Rose says, “You can get out of here! I can find a place to hide—I know this bayou like I know how to breathe. If you’re a wolf you’ll make it out of here.”

River hesitates, weighing her options, but then shakes her head stubbornly. “Wolves do  _not_ leave each other behind.”

Rose opens her mouth to argue, but then her eyes widen as she looks over River’s shoulder in fear. A few hundred yards away, a flannel-clad hunter stares through the sight of his rifle, which is pointed right at River’s back. “Watch out!” Rose grabs River and whips her to the ground just as the shot rings out.

River hits the ground painfully, branches digging into her skin, and she crawls behind a different bush, out of view of the hunter. She looks Rose. “Thanks, we better—” Her sentence trails off.

Rose stares back at her, eyes wide. Her hands clutch her abdomen, right at the bottom of her ribcage. Already, gleaming, viscous blood oozes between her fingers.

“Rose?”

The alpha blinks once, and then slumps to the ground, her eyes staring up at nothing.

 

* * *

 

Amaya sits heavily on the tiny bench seat inside the camper, eyes staring a thousand miles away. The door is ripped open and Lorena enters. She doesn’t even acknowledge the distraught woman as she marches over to Marcel and examines his mask. “Looks like we tapped you out again.” She presses her hands to either side of the mask, and after a moment, it pops off of his face. “Let’s give you some time to restock, huh?” She sets the mask to the side and stands up.

“She’s a  _kid_.”

Lorena gives a half-hearted shrug. “She’s a kid, but she’s a kid we need out of the picture.” She gestures to Amaya. “What’s up with her?”

“She’s just starting to realize what an ass your boss is.”

“I don’t have a boss,” she’s quick to say, but even she doesn’t sound like she believes it. “Whatever. I’ll give you an hour. Then it’s back on with the mask.” She sweeps out of the camper without another word.

Silence reigns for a while as Marcel watches Amaya stare blankly at the floor. Eventually he asks, “Are you okay?”

Amaya looks at him, shocked. “What?”

Shifting so that he’s not so contorted on the ground, Marcel says, “What that asshole said was harsh.”

Scrubbing a thumb under her eyes, Amaya nods. “Yeah. Yeah, it was. But then again, it seems like he knew my brother better than I did, so…”

“He was the hunter, wasn’t he? The hunter who was killing vampires in my town for a few weeks.”

Amaya nods again. “I had no idea. I thought worked on the docks.” She swallows, and looks down at her hands in her lap. “I guess I never really knew him at all.”

Marcel chooses his next words carefully. “I can see that you loved your brother, and I have no doubt that he loved you, too. But the thing is…he killed a lot of people, good people that were like family to me. And he shot an innocent teenager in her own home. Nearly killed her.”

“Stop,” Amaya breathes, eyes sliding closed. “Please stop.”

“She’s Freya’s niece.” That gets her to open her eyes again. “He thought she was a vampire, and your girlfriend nearly lost her niece.”

“How did you…”

Marcel shrugs. “I know everything that goes on in my city. I know about you and Freya, and I know how she wanted to protect you from all of this. But she couldn’t, because your brother made you a part of this the second he signed on with this crowd.”

Amaya stays quiet, brain churning as she tries to process everything Marcel’s saying. After a while, she asks, “Who’s just a kid?”

“What?”

“Earlier. To that w…to her. You said ‘she’s a kid.’ Who were you talking about?”

Marcel sighs. “Freya’s niece has a girlfriend. Her name is River. She’s eighteen, and a werewolf, and this crew, these friends of your brother’s? They’re out there trying to kill her.”

The breath whooshes out of Amaya. “Why are they trying to kill her?”

“It’s a long story, and does it really matter? She’s a college freshman. She doesn’t deserve to be killed by Elmer Fudd’s lackeys.”

Amaya stands up. “I have to go.”

Marcel can see that she’s heard enough. “Fine. Just know this: that dick out there may have made you feel small, but you have a lot more power than you think you do.”

She stares at him strangely, as if really seeing him for the first time, and then, without another word, turns and leaves the camper.

 

* * *

 

The color has completely left River’s face as she sits, frozen, staring at Rose’s dead body. Blood has pooled on her torso, dripping sanguinely down her sides. She can’t move, even as the sounds of gunshots grow louder.

There’s a haze in her mind, her thoughts thick like molasses as she looks at her friend, but there’s the sharp crack of a branch just a few feet behind her, and finally a cogent thought breaks through:  _Get out_. She heaves one dry sob as she closes her eyes and tears herself into a wolf. Now hulking and dark, River the wolf noses Rose’s body once, a quiet goodbye. Then she bounds away, a shadowy blur between the trees, easily dodging hunters and their weapons until, before long, she is far from the scene of the crime.

 

* * *

 

Hayley is waiting for her daughter in the compound when she returns. “Everyone knows?”

Hope nods. “Vincent and Josh are filling in their people now. We’re meeting in a few hours to talk about our strategy going forward.”

“Any word from Marcel?” Elijah asks, coming down the stairs.

“No. I’m officially in the worried zone.”

Hayley pulls her daughter into a hug. “We’ll find him. I’m sure he’s okay.”

Before Hope can answer, there a loud banging sound from out of sight. All three turn to see a giant wolf galloping in from the direction of the entrance to the tunnels.

“What the hell?” Hayley says, surprised.

At first Hope is confused, but then she recognizes the look behind the wolf’s eyes. “Oh my god.” She rushes to the wolf, ignoring her mother’s noise of concern. “River?”

The wolf starts to shrink, bones cracking horribly as it turns back into a human. As the fur recedes, Hope turns to her uncle. “Elijah!”

Understanding immediately, Elijah whips off his suit jacket and tosses it to his niece. Hope twists back to face the wolf just as her girlfriend emerges. She quickly wraps a trembling River up in the jacket. “River, what happened? You’re shaking.” She looks her girlfriend over. She’s covered in a myriad of scrapes and blooming bruises. “River?”

Looking at Hope with watery eyes, River whispers, “They ambushed us out in the bayou.”

“The hunters?” Elijah asks.

“They killed her,” is the reply. “She’s dead.”

“Killed  _who_?” Hope presses. “Who’s dead?”

“Rose.” Hope makes a choked noise. “Rose is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two, episode eleven, "So Many Different Breeds Here," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	25. Season Two, Episode Eleven: So Many Different Breeds Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode contains a musical cue. When you come across the hyperlink phrase, please click the link to be taken to a YouTube video that will play a song chosen to accompany the scene.

Clothed once more, River sits with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders in the library. She’s tucked in on herself, staring at the floor. Hope sits beside her, running a hand up and down her shaking back. She tips her forehead against River’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

River sniffs. “We have to go get her. We can’t leave her body out there.”

Hope nods. “You’re right.” She looks up at her family, who’s gathered around, having just heard River recount her traumatic experience in the bayou. “I’ll head out—”

Everyone starts talking at once, the loudest being Klaus, who shouts, “Over my desiccated corpse.”

“Did you not hear a word your girlfriend just said?” Hayley asks. “The bayou is crawling with hunters. You’re not going out there. None of us are.”

“We can’t leave her,” Hope insists. “And someone has to tell the Crescents that their alpha…” She trails off, and takes a deep breath.

“Why did they kill her?” Rebekah looks confused. “She was a werewolf, and these are vampire hunters.”

“I imagine Rose wasn’t the target.” Everyone turns to look at Freya. She sighs. “First Marcel goes missing, and then these hunters start shooting at River.” She waits for the others to catch up.

Elijah gets there first. “They took him for his venom.”

Impossibly, River looks more horrified than before. “Rose died…because of me?”

Hope wraps her arms around her girlfriend. “ _No_. Rose died because _they_ are monsters. This isn’t your fault.”

“The point still stands.” Klaus starts to gesticulate wildly. “These hunters have access to the only means of killing us left. They must be stopped.”

“Yes, thank you, Niklaus, for once again summarizing the obvious,” Elijah drawls.

“How did they find her?”

Freya’s brows furrow at Hope’s question. “What do you mean?”

“River and Rose were in the middle of the bayou. River doesn’t even live out there. How did they manage to track her down?”

“That’s a good question.” Freya cogitates on that for a minute. “Oh…that’s smart.”

“What is it, sister?” Kol asks.

“A simple locator spell would suffice if they had some biological material to use,” she explains. “And if they have Marcel’s venom, they also have Malraux venom.”

The entire family lets that sink in. “So they can still track her,” Hope finally says.

Freya nods. “As long as they still have Marcel’s venom.”

“Well then our next move is clear,” Klaus announces. “River needs to go.”

Rebekah’s jaw drops. “ _Nik_ —”

Hope leaps to her feet. “What the hell, Dad?”

The others start to express their outrage as well, and Klaus jerks a hand toward the werewolf girl. “If they track her here, we are all in danger!”

“Klaus, _no_.” Hayley stands up and glowers at him. “River is just as much a part of this family as any of us. We will protect her, not abandon her.”

“She’s a _risk_ ,” Klaus insists.

“She’s _family_ ,” Hayley snarls back.

Klaus looks from person to person, not finding a single sympathizer in the room. Finally he straightens himself and says, “I know when my opinion is no longer valued,” and heads for the hall.

Under his breath, Kol mutters, “History tells us _that’s_ not true,” but everyone ignores him.

Hayley kneels down in front of River and looks her right in the eye. “Listen to me. We will keep you _safe_.” She pauses. “And you’re right. We can’t leave Rose out there, and we can’t leave the Crescents in the dark. We’ll go out. Together.” She looks over at her daughter, who sits, rests her head against River’s shoulder once more, and mouths, _Thank you_.

 

* * *

 

Sebastian’s waiting in the camper, carving some wooden bullets, when they return. Jordan’s the one who enters, head bowed. “How’d it go?” Sebastian asks, not even looking up from his work.

Jordan hesitates. “We got one. Just…not the right one.”

Sebastian’s eyes flick up in anger. “How hard can it be to kill one measly werewolf?”

“Pretty damn hard when she actually turns into a wolf.”

That throws Sebastian for a loop. “She turned?” Jordan nods. “But it’s not a full moon. And it’s the middle of the day.”

“You’re telling us.”

Sebastian sets his work aside with a sigh. “So who did you kill?”

“Richard’s the one who got her. Said he heard the one we were aiming for her call her Rose.”

From the back of the camper, Marcel makes a strangled noise. Sebastian looks over at him, annoyed. “What’s your problem?”

Through the mask, Marcel manages to articulate, “You killed their alpha.”

Sebastian and Jordan exchange a significant look. “That pack we’ve been watching. She was their alpha?” he asks of Marcel, and Marcel merely glares in return.

“That could be a problem,” Jordan says. “I can’t imagine they’d take too kindly to us killing their leader.”

Sebastian picks up his whittling knife and turns it over in his hand a few times. After a minute of contemplation, he shrugs and suggests, “Then we kill them.”

That catches Jordan by surprise. “All of them?”

“Our scouts said there weren’t that many, right? We’ve got to outnumber them, what, ten to one? At least? Why not wipe them out before they can become a problem for us?”

Jordan opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. His eyes dart over to Marcel, who’s staring back in horror and rage. Then he says, “Yeah. Good idea. I’ll go get supplies together.” And he leaves the camper before Sebastian can say anything else.

 

* * *

 

When River, Hope, Hayley, and Elijah arrive in the little wolf bayou village, Mary’s waiting for them by the lakeside. Hope immediately gives her great-grandmother a hug, and Mary squeezes her back. “Have you told them?” Hope whispers.

Mary shakes her head. “I thought it should come from their leader.”

And that’s what she is now. Without an alpha, Hope is the de facto leader of the Crescent pack, and she has no idea what she’s going to say to them. Once Mary lets go of her, she wraps River up in her arms, too. “Now you listen to me. Ain’t none of this your fault.” River hugs her, but doesn’t respond.

Crescents start climbing out of the woods, circling around the newcomers. There aren’t a ton of them; a lot of the families moved into the city, and their numbers weren’t large to begin with. They look confused. “What’s going on?” one calls.

Hope turns to the group. “We need to talk.”

“Where’s Rose?”

Hope takes a deep breath. “Rose is dead.” There are gasps from the wolves. “She was murdered by a group of hunters.”

“Hunters?” someone asks. “Like the vampire hunter?”

“She told us the hunter in the city was dead!”

“The hunter terrorizing New Orleans was not alone,” Hayley explains. “There are more of them now, many more. And they killed Rose.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Hope says, heart breaking. “For all of our losses.”

“This is your fault!” One of the wolves, a tall, muscular guy with a stony grimace steps forward. “We were fine out here until you came sniffing around.” He jabs a finger angrily toward Hope. “Our alpha is dead, and it’s _your fault_.”

Before Hope can argue, River snaps, “It’s not her fault, Cody, it’s mine.”

Hope starts to protest, “River—” but River talks over her. “Rose died saving my life because that’s the kind of person she was. She was fearless and she was strong and she was the leader this pack deserved. And you can get angry and you can get sad and you can do all the things you need to do to grieve her. But the fact of the matter is that your alpha was murdered, and the people responsible are going to kill others if we don’t band together and stop them.”

Silence rings in the little clearing, and the Crescents look at each other in disbelief. From behind, a small smirk appears on Mary’s face. “’Atta girl,” she murmurs to herself.

 

* * *

 

Freya’s got a table set up in the grand staircase, various grimoires holding down the corners of a map of Louisiana. In one hand she has a mortar, and in the other, the pestle she’s using to grind together a concoction of herbs. She hears a small cough from the open doors before her, but she doesn’t look up from her work. “I’m working as quickly as I can, Klaus, I don’t need your pressure.”

“Um.”

Freya freezes, and then slowly looks up. Standing in the entrance is Amaya, hands clasped in front of her awkwardly. Freya blinks owlishly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Amaya smiles. “I—I was hoping—” She sighs. “Can we talk?”

Nodding quickly, Freya says, “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

Josh steps tentatively into St. Anne’s, cell phone in hand. “Hello?”

“Hey Josh.” Vincent’s waiting up at the altar.

As Josh approaches, he asks, “Do you know what we’re doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.” They both turn to see Hope coming through the doors of the church. “We have a problem. We have, like, a lot of problems.”

“What’s going on?” Vincent asks, wary.

Stopping in front of the two men, Hope shrugs and says, “Let’s see. Rose is dead, the Crescents are a mess, Marcel has been kidnapped, there are an untold number of vampire hunters descending upon New Orleans like a plague, and they seem hellbent on killing my girlfriend.”

Silence.

“Wait, what?” Josh blurts out.

“What do you mean Rose is dead?” Vincent asks.

“And where’s Marcel?”

“The vampire hunter my mom killed? He’s got friends. Lots of them. And they took Marcel to use his venom as a weapon against my family and any other vampire that gets in their way. They came after River because if she’s dead, we’ll never be able to cure anyone infected.”

Jaw dropped, Vincent says, “And Rose?”

Hope’s shoulders droop. “She died protecting River.”

The three stand in silence for a while. Finally, Josh says, “Okay. What do you need us to do?”

 

* * *

 

Freya and Amaya sit in the library, on opposite couches. Amaya keeps tucking the same piece of hair behind her ear nervously. “I wasn’t sure I was going to come here.”

“I’m glad you did,” Freya says. “I…I’ve missed you.”

“This isn’t about…us.”

Freya’s face falls. “Oh.”

“It’s about the hunters.”

That surprises her. “You know about the hunters?”

Amaya nods. “I know a lot of things now. Things you really should know.”

“Why would you want to tell me anything? After…after your brother…”

“I have spent the last two days mourning my brother in more ways than one,” Amaya says, voice thick. “Not only was he taken from me, I had to come to terms with the fact that my brother, the kind, loving, gentle man who raised me after our parents died, was also in league with some truly…some truly awful people.”

Freya gets up and moves to sit beside Freya. “What did you learn of these hunters?”

Amaya whispers, “I know they tried to kill your niece’s girlfriend. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t deserve to die.”

With a sigh, Freya says, “No. No she doesn’t.”

“And they have a man locked up. There was this strange mask on his face.”

“Marcel. We know. We’re working on that, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Amaya says, grabbing Freya’s hand. “I’m sorry for not understanding.”

“You lost your brother,” Freya insists. “Trust me, I understand that pain. It’s not easy, having your world turned upside down so suddenly.” She pauses. “For the record, I am also sorry for the role I played in your brother’s death. There are things I could have handled better, things I could have done differently.”

“I want to help you,” Amaya declares. “I don’t want to be a part of…whatever they’re doing out there in the bayou. I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

Freya smiles. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

“Everyone gather ‘round!” Sebastian saunters to the middle of the hunters’ camp, motioning for everyone to circle up around him. It takes a while for all of them to mosey over, but eventually, a ring of dozens of vampire hunters forms, all watching Sebastian.

“I know we’re still waiting on everyone to arrive,” he calls, pacing a bit between the group. “But I don’t want to wait. We’ve got a wolf problem that we’re going to nip in the bud before it gets out of control. So everyone on the eastern edge of the lot…tonight, you’re going hunting.”

Loud whoops and cheers ring out, and Sebastian grins and lifts his hands to silence them. “The rest of you…I got a plan for you too. We’re here to cleanse the city of New Orleans from their secret disease. Vampires a pandemic in this town, and while I want to stick to our original plan, to wait for the rest of our brother and sisters to join us in our efforts…there’s no reason we can’t have a little fun in the meantime.” His grin turns malevolent, and the cheers continue. “So, the half of you that aren’t hunting for wolves…let’s head into the city, and wreak a little havoc among the bloodsuckers.”

The jeers are deafening, and, smirking proudly, Sebastian surveys the crowd with a glint of spite in his eye.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the family has joined Freya and Amaya in the library. The two women stand in front of the bookcases, with the others watching them in a mixture of apprehension, mistrust, and, in Klaus’s case, outright accusation. Elijah, standing behind one of the couches, cocks his head to the side and says, “Let me get this straight. You wish to volunteer yourself…as a spy?”

Amaya nods. “Sebastian, the…I don’t know, the leader, I guess? He trusts me. He thinks I’m willing to help them out.”

“And are you not?” Klaus asks, voice tense.

Freya glares at her brother, but Amaya answers, “I was. I was angry. I’m still angry. I’m angry at these hunters for dragging my teenage brother into a life he never should have been a part of. I’m angry at…whoever killed him.” The room goes very still, and no one looks at Hayley. “And I’m angry at him. As much as it hurts to say it, I’m pissed off at my dead brother for doing the things that he did, for putting himself in the situation where was killed.”

Quietly, Freya laces her fingers with Amaya’s, their hands interwoven down between their bodies. Amaya continues, “But in the past few days, I’ve had to suddenly come to grips with the fact that I am living in a very different world than I thought. And I may not know much about…about vampires or—or werewolves or witches, but…but I know that the people out in the bayou are not good people. They are not people I trust. I mean…they went out into the woods to kill a teenage girl. Who does that?”

“That was me.”

Everyone turns to see River, half-hidden in the doorway to the hall. She’s dressed in pajama pants and a sweatshirt. Hope immediately abandons her spot on the couch and rushes over to her. “I thought you were getting some rest.”

River shrugs off her girlfriend’s worried hands and steps into the room, eyes haunted. To Amaya, she says, “They went out into the woods to kill me, and instead they killed someone else. A friend of mine. Someone with people who depend on her to survive. Her name was Rose. She was twenty-five.”

The silence rings in the library, until Freya murmurs, “That’s why she’s here. She wants to help.”

“I don’t trust her,” Klaus asserts, jabbing his finger at Amaya. “Her brother nearly killed ours.”

With a roll of her eyes, Rebekah snaps, “If people were required to answer for their siblings’ sins, we all would have to devote the rest of our eternities atoning for _yours_ , Nik.”

“How do we know this isn’t some ploy?” Klaus insists. “For all we know, she’s a spy for the hunters. We know they have Marcel’s venom, so they already have the upper hand.”

Surprised by his vitriol, Amaya says, “I’m trying to _help_.”

Klaus opens his mouth to argue, but he’s cut across by Elijah’s warning tone. “Niklaus.” Klaus’s mouth slowly closes. Elijah walks over to Amaya and smiles. “I believe you. And I believe that we could greatly use your help. There are a lot of lives on the line with these hunters in our midst, and if you are willing to do this for us, we would forever be in your debt.”

Amaya tentatively smiles in return, and Freya mouths _Thank you_ to her brother.

 

* * *

 

Under the cover of darkness, Josh and Vincent hide in the bayou, each tucked behind a thick oak, well out of view of the collection of vehicles that creates the hunters’ camp. Josh tips his head slightly to the side, and focuses all of his energies on listening.

“It’s empty,” he whispers, confused. “There’s hardly anyone there.”

“Then luck’s on our side,” Vincent whispers back. “Shouldn’t be too hard to do this.”

Josh listens some more, and then points around the trunk of the tree. “He’s in that one, just over there.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Vincent darts quietly between the trees, Josh on his heels, until they’re both crouched behind Sebastian’s camper.

Josh stretches up to peer through the back window. He spies Marcel, unconscious and tied up inside. He crouches back down and hisses, “He’s in there, and he does not look good.”

“Look!” Vincent points, and Josh sees a small side door the camper. He pries it open and dashes inside. After a moment, he pokes his head back out. “The chains around his ankles are spelled! I can’t break them!”

With a roll of his eyes, Vincent climbs into the camper. He kneels down beside Marcel. “Damn, man. You got yourself in it this time.” He grabs the chain around Marcel’s ankles with both hands and closes his eyes. A few seconds later, they spring free from the camper’s wheel well, and Josh tugs them easily off of Marcel’s legs.

Pointing at the mask, Josh asks, “What’s that on his face?”

“Must be how they’re getting his venom.” It doesn’t take long for Vincent to magically remove the mask as well. “Alright, get him and let’s go.”

Josh bends down to scoop his unconscious friend up, and the trio exits the camper as stealthily as they can. They’re a few steps into the trees when Josh cries out, dropping Marcel to clutch at his head. 

Vincent whips around to see a young woman in the shadows, her hand outstretched toward Josh. She cocks her head to the side. “Where do you think you’re going with him?”

Instead of answering, Vincent shakes his hand in the woman’s direction, and she’s blown off of her feet. Spell broken, Josh stops yelling in pain, and Vincent shouts, “Take him and go!”

Lorena quickly scrambles to her feet. “Oh no you don’t.” With a flick of her eyes, there’s a deafening crack, and a massive tree starts tipping toward the two vampires. Josh barely manages to grab the back of Marcel’s shirt and drag him out of the way before the tree crashes to the earth with an ear-splitting boom. The force of it jars both witches, and Lorena takes the opportunity to twist her hand, dropping Vincent to his knees.

“Why are you helping him?” she shouts. “They’re killers!”

Struggling to stand against the force of her spell, Vincent retorts, “You’re not exactly working with the saints yourself.” He snaps his fingers, and she goes flying again, crashing backwards into a different tree. She hits the ground with a sickening thud, and Vincent’s tugged to his feet by Josh.

“C’mon,” Josh mutters, and, holding onto both of his friends, he becomes a blur, disappearing into the bayou before Lorena can pull herself to her feet once more.

 

* * *

 

 

[River stands on their balcony](http://bit.ly/pr2x11-1), staring up at the starry sky above. Hope pads out quietly, two mugs of hot cocoa in her hand. She passes one to her girlfriend, who takes it but doesn’t drink. “How do you feel?” Hope murmurs, leaning up against the rail.

River doesn’t look down from the stars. “She saved my life.”

Hope tips her head onto River’s shoulder. “I know. I hate that I’m never going to be able to thank her for that.”

“The Crescents have it bad enough out there, and then this…” River turns to look at Hope, who removes her head from her shoulder. “What’s going to happen to them?”

Heart breaking, Hope says, “I don’t know. But we’ll help them. I promise you that. We’re not going to leave them alone out there. I wouldn’t do that to Rose.”

River nods, and then there’s a loud noise from downstairs. The two look at each other in confusion, and then head back inside. They leave their bedroom and head out to the inside balcony. When they look down at the courtyard below, they’re surprised to see a small band of people, dressed in torn and dirtied pajamas, pouring in through the entrance.

“What’s going on?” Klaus is a few feet over, glaring down at the intruders. “Who are you people?”

Recognition dawns on River’s face. “They’re Crescents.”

One of the people looks up and spots River. “Help us!” she begs, clutching a small child to her side.

“What happened?” Hope asks, rushing for the stairs to go down.

“They attacked us! In our sleep!”

The other Mikaelsons start peering in from their various rooms. Hayley strides out of the kitchen, concern coloring her face. “This was the hunters?”

The woman nods. “There were so many of them. We barely got away.”

Cody, the wolf who blamed Hope for Rose’s death earlier that same day, appears at the back of the group, ushering the last of the stragglers inside. He sees her, and his face is grave. “They came for us in the night.” His voice is hollow. “Like cowards. At least three of us are dead. A bunch are probably lost in the woods still.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “We need help.”

Before any of the Mikaelsons can answer, there’s more commotion at the front gates. A new group of people crowd into the courtyard, pushing the Crescent pack further into the compound. Hope recognizes several of the faces. “What’s going on?”

Panicking, the nightwalkers tuck themselves into corners and shadows, fully out of view of the street. “It’s the hunters,” one of them says, approaching Hope. “The city is crawling with them. They came into our bar, into St. James’.” His face falls. “My best friend was staked right in front of me.

Eyes wide, Hope surveys the sudden horde of refugees in her family home. Vampires and werewolves alike, this is a group of terrified people fleeing for their lives. She looks to her mother, who nods in both understanding and reassurance. Then Hope hops up onto a chair and calls out, “Listen up!” The nervous chatter quiets. “We don’t know what these hunters want, or how far they’re willing to go to get it. But they came into _our_ city, threatened _our_ loved ones. And they won’t get away with it.

“But for tonight, you all are welcome here.” There is a ripple of murmurs through the crowd. “I don’t care who you are, what community you belong to. This is New Orleans, and you are all my family. You’re safe here. So get on the phone, try to get into contact with the people you know. Tell them that as long as I’m alive, you will find refuge here.”

Her voice goes cold and still. “And tomorrow? Tomorrow we make them pay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two, episode twelve, "Together on an Empty Stage," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	26. Season Two, Episode Twelve: Together on an Empty Stage

A tall stack of folded laundry in her hands, Hope weaves her way carefully through the compound, dodging their houseguests as they mill about the halls. Two young kids chase each other around the second-floor balconies, and Hope nearly drops the clothes as she jumps out of their way.

“Whoa!” Half of the stack suddenly disappears, and Rebekah is smiling down at her. “Careful!” She takes her pile of clothes and starts to walk beside her niece. “Where are you taking these?”

“The wolves showed up in their pajamas, so these are all the spare clothes I could find.” She stops outside a bedroom door and knocks. When the door swings open, a young Crescent woman is on the other side, wrapped in a towel with wet hair. Hope digs out a shirt and pair of sweatpants from her pile. “Here you go, fresh out of the laundry!”

The woman takes the clothes gratefully. “Thank you so much. You and your family have been so kind to us.”

“Your home was invaded by people with guns,” Hope says wryly. “The least we could do was open up ours to you.”

She smiles, and closes the door to change.

Hope heads down to the next room. Still in step with her, Rebekah gives her a sideways glance and says, “You’re good at this.”

Hope wrinkles her nose. “It’s my job. And I care about these people. As long as there is a threat to them in my city, I’m going to keep them safe.”

“You couldn’t have kept them safe elsewhere?”

The two women turn to see Klaus, leaned into a corner of the hall, glass of scotch in hand. Hope frowns. “This compound is a fortress, Dad. We have, like, a stupid number of rooms, and a lot of people in need of a safe place to stay. Where else should they go?”

“Not _here_ ,” Klaus groans, “in _my_ house.”

With a shrug, Hope lilts, “Well, your opinion was heard, and you were massively outvoted by the rest of this family, so here they stay. Besides, a lot of the wolves are finding places to stay with the Crescents who have already relocated into the city proper, so things are starting to settle.”

Before Klaus can argue further, there’s a commotion at the front gate. Hope peers over the rail as a small band of people pile into the compound.

“Not more refugees,” Rebekah says, dejected.

“No, look!” Hope calls down, “Vincent?”

From the front of the group, Vincent looks up at her. “Hey there, Hope.”

“What’re you doing here?” She surveys the witches around him. “Are they coming after you, too?”

Vincent smiles, and offers a half-shrug. “The way I see it, you come after one of us, you come after all of us. They came for the vampires, they came for the wolves, and now the witches are here to help.”

A bright, surprised smiles spreads across Hope’s face. From his spot in the corner, Klaus grumbles to himself, “Alright, but we’re not feeding them, too.”

 

* * *

 

Amaya and Freya lead Hayley, Elijah, and Hope into a small room, tucked away from all of the noise and commotion of the compound now housing the bulk of New Orleans’s supernatural population. Freya starts with a deep breath. “Amaya’s spent the past few hours writing down everything she can remember about the hunters and their camp.”

“Really I only interacted with Sebastian,” Amaya supplies. “He seems to be the leader. At least, everyone answered to him. He was…not kind to me about Joel.” Freya rubs a hand up and down her back. “He has a plan for ridding New Orleans of vampires, that much is for sure.”

“Do you know what this plan is?” Hayley asks.

“Well, we know it involves Marcel’s venom, right?” Hope offers. “Otherwise, why take him?”

Amaya nods. “I don’t know what this…this venom is supposed to do, but I know that he wants to use it on the Original family of vampires.”

“Lovely,” Elijah says, a dry smile on his face.

“Who are they?” Amaya asks, and Hope snorts.

“That would be us,” Elijah answers.

“Oh.”

“Amaya overheard Sebastian say that there are more hunters coming in from all corners of the continent,” Freya tells them. “We have no way of knowing what their total numbers will be.”

Making a face, Hayley says, “Maybe this is my hybrid arrogance, but aren’t we taking this threat a little too seriously? Sure, there may be a lot of them, but they’re humans. They can’t be that hard to defeat.”

“They killed the Crescent alpha right in front of my girlfriend,” Hope responds. “I’m not underestimating them. Besides, this house is currently packed to the rafters with people fleeing these hunters. Clearly they’re a pretty big threat.”

“Fair.”

“What was the organizational structure besides Sebastian?” Hope asks Amaya. “Were there other people who seemed to be in charge?”

Amaya hums in thought. “There was one guy, Jordan, who seemed to be, like, his right-hand sort of guy. But other than that, all things ran through Sebastian.”

Nodding, Hope’s gaze turns meditative. Elijah prompts, “What are you thinking about?”

“I think…” The barest hint of a smile appears on her face. “I think I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

A couple dozen Crescents gather in the grand staircase, all of them looking curiously at River, who stands between the two flights of stairs. She beckons them all forward. “It’s okay guys. I just want to talk.”

The wolves look unsure. Leading the pack, Cody puffs out his chest and demands, “Why should we listen to anything you have to say? It’s your fault our alpha was killed.”

River takes a deep breath. “That may be true, but I’m just trying to offer some help. In the short time that I’ve been in New Orleans, I’ve seen that the Crescents are a real pack, a community of wolves devoted to each other. I don’t want to see that fall apart because of these assholes.”

“You think this is the first time we’ve lost an alpha?” someone pipes up. “We know how to adapt.”

“Fair enough,” River says. “But this time you don’t have to move on by yourselves. You have the entire supernatural community of New Orleans behind you.”

Cody’s eyes narrow. “We don’t need the witches, and we certainly don’t need the vampires,” he snaps. “We were doing just fine on our own until Rose decided to get all kumbaya with the enemy.”

“The vampires and the witches are _not_ our enemies!” River insists.

“ _Our_ enemies?” Cody scoffs. “You aren’t one of us, either.”

River works her jaw, trying to disguise how much that stings. She takes another deep breath. “Look. I’m here to make sure that the Crescent pack has the support it needs to rebuild after a terrible loss. Whoever…whatever choice you make regarding your next alpha, that’s entirely up to y’all. But while we’re all…stuck here, we might as well get some actual work done. _Not_ just posturing for posturing’s sake.” Her eyes flash dangerously at Cody, whose lip curls in reply.

From the back of the crowd, hidden behind the heads of a mass of Crescents, Mary leans against the frame of the entryway, watching her great-granddaughter’s girlfriend address the wolves, a contemplative expression on her face.

 

* * *

 

It’s hard to find a quiet spot in a compound filled with vampires, witches, and werewolves, but Amaya finds a tiny half-bath tucked into the corner to steal away in. She locks the door behind her, and turns on the sink faucet to create some white noise.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket, and scrolls quickly through her contacts to find a familiar number. She presses the phone to her ear and waits. “Sebastian? It’s Amaya.” She pauses to listen. “No, I know you’re probably really busy but…I’m in the house of the Original vampire family right now. You won’t _believe_ what they have planned.”

 

* * *

 

Hayley’s walking down a hall on the third floor when all of a sudden she’s being tugged sideways into a room. “What the hell?”

She fights off her attacker only to see Mary, who shoves the door closed behind them. “We need to talk.”

“And you needed to kidnap me to make that happen?”

Ignoring her, Mary states, “The Crescents need a new alpha.”

“I know,” Hayley says, confused. “Why are you telling me about it?”

“Those wolves need someone who can lead them, someone with a good head on their shoulders.”

Hayley shrugs. “So why don’t you do it?”

Mary scoffs. “Nah, too old. Need someone younger, someone with a lot of good ideas.”

Eyes widening, Hayley starts to shake her head. “Not me, Mary, I couldn’t do that again—”

“No, not you, neither.” Mary smiles. “I got someone else in mind.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a knock at her apartment door, and Amaya opens it with a relieved sigh. “Thanks for coming out.”

Sebastian pushes his way inside, irritated. “I don’t have a lot of time, so this information better be good.” He faces Amaya with suspicion on his face. “How did you manage to get into the Original family’s home, anyway?”

Amaya shakes her head. “It’s sort of a long story. Not really important. What’s important is their plan to slaughter you and everyone else you’ve got out in the bayou.”

With a scoff, Sebastian replies, “I’m not that scared of a couple of ancient vampires. Our plan is pretty foolproof.”

“I’m sure that it is, but they’ve got information, too. They know about that vampire, the one you have locked up? And that you want to use his venom again them. They’re working on an antidote as we speak.”

Gritting his teeth, he hisses, “How in the hell do they know that?”

“Apparently they’ve got someone on the inside feeding them information.”

Sebastian’s brows furrow. “Who?”

A slow, smug smile spreads across Amaya’s face. “Me.”

Then there’s a loud thud, and Sebastian crumples to the floor, unconscious. Elijah stands over him with a faint smile of his own. He straightens the cuffs of his suit jacket. “Nothing like a little petty revenge to start the day off right.”

 

* * *

 

When River enters her bedroom, she’s surprised to find Hayley and Mary waiting for you. “Um. Hi.”

Hayley nods toward the bed. “Why don’t you take a seat? We need to talk.”

River closes the door and nervously steps over to the bed. “That sounds nice and ominous.” She sits down. “What’s up?”

Mary begins. “Heard you talkin’ to the Crescents earlier. Did a good job of makin’ ‘em feel heard.”

River shrugs. “It’s my fault they’re without an alpha. The least I could do is help them get back on their feet.”

“Okay, well, first of all?” Hayley perches on the edge of the bed. “It’s not your fault that Rose was killed. It’s the fault of the people who shot her. And second of all…” She takes a deep breath. “The Crescents do need a new alpha. They need someone smart, and strong, and dedicated to building the community in New Orleans that Rose felt so strongly about.”

River nods. “Right.”

“We think that person should be you,” Mary says bluntly.

River’s eyes flick blankly between the two women, her face unreadable. Hayley tilts her head, concerned. “River?”

Shaking her head to clear it, River says, “Sorry! I was hallucinating. What were we talking about?”

“River—”

“No way I can be the alpha of that pack. Of any pack! I can’t even handle being the alpha of the Malraux pack, _and that’s a pack of one!_ ”

“You know just as well as I do that that Cody fellow’s aimin’ to get himself as the new alpha,” Mary asserts. “You ‘n’ I both know too that he’d be no good at it. Too hot-headed, too superior. He’d start a new war with the vampires that we ain’t in no position to win.”

“What about you?” River suggests desperately. “They respect you, you’re one of their elders!”

Mary waves her off. “Exactly. I’m an elder. Can’t be an elder and an alpha. Besides, I’m too old for that mess.”

“And don’t you think I’m too young for it?”

“What about Hope?” Hayley says.

River furrows her brow in confusion. “What about her?”

“Well she signed up to be queen of a city on her eighteenth birthday.”

River’s face blooms into something akin to surprise. “Well for starters, Hope makes decisions for Hope, and I make decisions for myself. And then there’s the fact that Hope was asked to lead New Orleans because she is the only person who can represent all three communities. I can’t represent the Crescents because I’m not a Crescent! And honestly, I don’t really appreciate you using my girlfriend to guilt me into taking on a responsibility that I don’t want. I mean, Jesus, I’m trying to make it out of my first semester of undergrad alive. I don’t know if I’m really interested in putting myself in a position to lead a bunch of wolves when I’m trying to, you know, not flunk out of school.”

Mary and Hayley listen to her outburst in stunned silence. Once she’s finished, they exchange a significant look. Then Hayley says carefully, “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re not Hope, and I shouldn’t try to use her against you. But the fact of the matter is, you’d be good at this. You’re a natural-born leader, and Rose trusted you. She didn’t trust many people, but she trusted you.”

“And look where that got her.” River pushes herself off of the bed and starts to pace a little circle. “Look, I’m not saying no, okay? I’m just saying I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Think on it,” Mary says quickly. “They don’t need an answer today.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” River shakes her head. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna go.” And then she tugs open the door and leaves.

Mary and Hayley exchange another look. “That could have gone worse,” Hayley sighs.

Mary harrumphs. “Barely.”

 

* * *

 

When Sebastian comes to, his head is throbbing. His hand reaches back, and he feels a massive bump right at the base of his neck. Groggy, he sits up; he’s on a bed, in a dark room. He gropes around, hand colliding painfully with a bedside lamp. He flicks it on, and once his eyes adjust to the sudden wash of light, he sees he’s in a dingy motel room, with water stains on the ceilings and peeling wallpaper.

“The hell…” He sits up, dizzy, and flinches when he hears a loud rapping at the door. He manages to push himself off of the bed and stumble to the door, where the rapping continues. He wrenches the door open angrily. “What the hell?”

He’s surprised to see two people on the other side, a tall man with massive grin on his face, and a young woman with flaming red hair.

“Hello!” the young woman says cheerfully. “My name is Hope Mikaelson, and this is my father, Klaus. I hear you’re trying to kill my family.”

 

* * *

 

Jordan walks through the hunters’ campsite, staring at his phone with a frown. He approaches Sebastian’s camper and knocks, but no one comes to the door. He looks around and spies Lorena walking across the central area. “Lorena!”

She turns as he jogs up to her. “What’s up?”

“Have you heard from Sebastian? He went into the city hours ago and I haven’t heard from him since.”

Lorena shakes her head. “No, sorry. I haven’t heard from him, either, not for a while.”

Just then, Jordan’s phone beeps with a text. He looks at the screen. “Oh, it’s him. He sent me a picture. That’s weird.” Jordan unlocks the phone to see a picture of Sebastian, unconscious on a bed. “What the hell?”

Lorena moves to peer over his shoulder. “Is he okay?”

Before Jordan can answer, a new text comes in. _Remove yourselves from New Orleans within twelve hours, or your leader will be returned to you in pieces_.

 

* * *

 

The compound is large, but with the setting sun, even more vampires pour into the Mikaelsons’ home for protection. The tension in the air grows impossibly thicker as vampire and werewolves trip over each other in the halls, with each moment passing engendering more annoyance than before.

Josh tries to keep the peace the best he can. When a nightwalker jumps threateningly toward a young Crescent man, Josh quickly steps in to deescalate the situation. “Hey!” he snaps, shoving the nightwalker away. “We’re all in this together. We have to keep our heads.”

The nightwalker huffs, but then nods. Then he’s being thrown against a wall himself, his face colliding with the brick. He bounces off easily, and whips around to see Cody stalking toward him angrily. “What the hell?”

Cody swings again, and Josh ducks easily, pinning his arm against his back and pushing him against the balcony rail. “What’re you doing, man?”

“I don’t have to answer to _you_ , pansy,” he snarls. “None of us do.”

Josh rolls his eyes. “Looks like all that time out in the sticks didn’t make you any more creative with your insults.”

Cody bucks against Josh’s hold and spins around, fangs bared. Josh’s eyes go wide, but then they’re both distracted by a shout. “HEY!”

They turn to see River stalking toward them, eyes flashing. She shoves Cody backward. “You wanna pick a fight? Huh?” She shoves him again. “You wanna pick a fight? Prove you’re the biggest douche in New Orleans?”

Cody shoves her back. “Stay out of this. This is between the Crescents and the vampires.”

“The hell it is!” River grabs his arm and twists around so that Cody’s body bounces off of the brick. He slaps against the ground like a sack of flour, and is slow to move. “You’re a coward,” she spits down at him. “You’re scared of what’s out there, so you’re taking it out on the people in here. You’re pissed about Rose? Well guess what— _me too_. But if you think that _this_ is what she’d want, you starting shit you don’t need to be starting because you’re bored, because you’re _scared_? She’d be _ashamed_ of you. Hell, you’re not even in my pack and _I’m_ ashamed of you.

She crouches down to get right in his face. “Do you think we don’t see right through you? If you want to assert yourself as alpha, then you’re going to have to be a hell of a lot smarter than this. Because right now, the only thing you’re showing your pack, your scared, hurt, grieving pack, is that the loudest, boldest one among them is an absolute _moron_. So pull your shit together, before you tear this pack apart.”

She shoves on his shoulder to get herself back on her feet, and when she turns around, there are dozens of eyes on her. From all around the compound, vampires, witches, and werewolves alike stare at her with a myriad of emotions: surprise, anger, confusion, intrigue. And from down below, by the fountain in the courtyard, Hayley and Mary smile up at her, a twinkle of knowing in their eyes.

 

* * *

 

Jordan climbs up to the top of Sebastian’s camper and lets out an ear-splitting whistle. Slowly, the hunters at the camp gather around, staring up at him. He calls out, “Listen up! The enemy has taken Sebastian.” Murmurs and shouts ripple through the crowd. “We don’t know where he is, but we are going to tear New Orleans brick from brick until we find him.” Jeers ring out. “They made a mistake, picking a fight with the most formidable group of vampire hunters this world has ever seen! Let’s make ‘em pay for it.”

Once the crowd calms down, Jordan gives them their instructions. “Go out to our other encampments throughout the bayou. Ask Lorena for a map. By now, the hundreds of hunters that make up our ranks should have arrived to help us in our fight. Go let them know that we need them now more than ever. We have a war to win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two, episode thirteen, "Hell to the Rest of Us," is already available on the Tumblr blog peopleandrhythm at this time.


	27. Season Two, Episode Thirteen: Hell to the

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode contains two musical cues. When you come upon a hyperlinked phrase, please click the link to be taken to a YouTube video that will play a song chosen to accompany that scene.2.

The compound is mostly quiet, a low hum of conversation settled over each floor like bedsheets in summer air. There’s a group of Crescents in the courtyard, watching two among them play pinochle, while a mixed cadre of wolves and vampires bump hips in the kitchen, trying to keep up with the steady demand for food that such a large crowd engenders. The telltale tinkle of the piano indicates that Elijah is entertaining again, a welcome distraction for those trying not to think about the specter of danger lurking around every corner.

Hope finds River sitting halfway up the stairs to the third floor, an open textbook in her lap. It’s not an uncommon sight these days, but Hope can tell by the stillness of her eyes that River hasn’t read so much as a word in quite some time. She doesn’t need to be a vampire to hear the cogs in her head churning in overdrive.

Quietly padding up the stairs, Hope settles a few steps below her girlfriend. Resting her head against the rails of the banister, Hope says casually, “Some week we’re having.”

River snorts, and thumps the textbook closed. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

“What’re you thinking about?”

Shrugging, River says, “Certainly not…” She checks the cover of the textbook. “Mammalian biology.” She sets the book onto the step beside her with a huff.

“Weird. I wasn’t thinking about mammalian biology either.”

River smiles down at her. “So what’s your grand plan?”

Hope sucks her teeth. “Well, Plan A is the hunters leave town like we asked, and we send Sebastian packing after them a little while later.”

“And on a scale of one to ten, how likely do we find that scenario?”

“Hm…negative twenty? Give or take?”

With a laugh, River says, “Okay, then. What’s Plan B?”

Hope sighs. “Plan B is the hunters try to rescue him, and we kill enough of them that they surrender.”

River’s smile fades. “How do you feel about that?”

Her first instinct is to walk away, to shove herself off those stairs and leave, but running from the question isn’t going to make it go away. “I feel like shit. I get that these are the people who killed Rose, who nearly killed Uncle Elijah and his entire sire line, but that doesn’t…it doesn’t…”

“It doesn’t make killing them any easier.” River scoots down the few steps separating them so she’s sitting next to her girlfriend. “I know how this feels.”

“No you—”

“You’re forgetting that I killed someone, too.” That quiets Hope’s protest. “Sure, it wasn’t…premediated, and sure, he deserved it. But I still have to live with it. The knowledge. It’s a threshold. Something you can’t come back from.” She looks down at her moonlight ring, spinning it round and round her finger.

Hope stares too, and eventually nods at it. “That’s another thing.”

Confused, River asks, “What do you mean?”

“Both of my parents are werewolves. I bear the mark of the Crescent wolves. So…” She takes a deep breath. “So if I’m responsible for the loss of human life, I’ll trigger the curse.”

River smiles wryly. “Hey, it’s not all bad. Besides, one of these things—” She wriggles her hand so the black kyanite glints in the light. “—and you’re good to go.”

Hope blinks. “River. If I trigger the curse…I won’t be a witch anymore.”

River’s eyes widen. “Wait, what?”

With a shrug, Hope explains, “I mean, there’s no reason to think I’d keep my powers if I trigger the curse. Magic tends not to mix well with other species.”

“Well—I mean—you don’t know that for sure.”

“No, but…I know that becoming a vampire means you lose your access to magic.”

“Yeah, but becoming a vampire and becoming a werewolf are very different things.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Hope runs her hands nervously along her thighs. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Yeah.” River pauses. “Did your mom tell you what she and Mary proposed to me?” Hope shakes her head. “They think I should be the new Crescent alpha.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Hope gives half a shrug. “That’s honestly not a bad idea.”

“ _Oh_ my god.”

“Wait, what—”

Before Hope can make her point, there’s the sound of pounding footsteps from down below. The two girls move to the nearest landing in time to see someone come barreling into the courtyard from the street outside. Hope recognizes the tall, reedy woman from the nightwalkers’ hangout.

The vampire’s skin and clothes are stained with blood. Her eyes are wild as she searches for someone, finally landing on Hope up above. “They’re here!”

“Who’s here?” Freya’s on the floor below the girls, looking out over the rail at the panicked nightwalker.

“The hunters. They’re swarming the city. Almost everyone still in the bar…they didn’t make it.”

Hope and River exchange a loaded look. “So it begins,” Hope murmurs, before charging down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

The grand staircase is so crowded it’s a wonder the massive double doors off of the courtyard don’t bow under the weight of bodies. Hope tried her best to keep this meeting to just those with some modicum of authority, but it didn’t take long for word to spread that the vampire hunters are out for blood, and their numbers are swelling rapidly. Crescents, vampires, and witches alike have poured in to participate in the strategy discussion.

From her place on the landing above, Hope calls down, “Alright, listen up!” The chatter quiets. “Obviously we need to move quickly. There are a lot more hunters than we had originally thought.”

“There are multiple encampments in the woods,” Josh offers. “There could honestly be close to a thousand. Difficult to know for sure.”

“Have a hard time counting that high?” Kol snarks.

“This is serious, Uncle Kol,” Hope sighs. “I’m not going to ask anyone to fight a battle they don’t want to fight.”

Some of the vampire scoff. One of them calls out, “Doesn’t matter how many of ‘em there are. We’re still vampires. We got this.”

“Not all of us can so easily put our lives on the line,” a Crescent wolf retorts. “Some of us have families.”

Sensing a conflict brewing, Hope presses on, “Like I said. This is your city just as much as it is anyone else’s. You get to decide what kinds of sacrifice you’re willing to make. That being said, a battle _is_ coming, and we have to be prepared.”

Vincent steps forward. “The witches will be happy to start casting some protective spells over important areas of the city. Now our cemeteries are covered, but any wolf houses, vampire strongholds. I’ve also thrown together a collection of dark objects for y’all to use, should you want them.”

“Thank you, Vincent.” Hope takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what kind of coordinated effort these hunters are going to make against us, or when, or how, but I would like to remind all of you that these are _people_ , human beings who may have a…misguided view of the world, but are human beings nonetheless. Almost everyone here has abilities far outside the normal human capabilities, and that gives us a distinct advantage, but I also want to remind you that should you survive this attack, you have to live with what you’ve done afterward. So please…just…just don’t kill unless you have to.”

All of the onlookers process Hope’s speech—the vampires with some degree of disregard, which she expected—and Hope smiles grimly. “Alright. Let’s get to work.”

 

* * *

 

River’s trying doors down a hallway, looking for Mary, when she opens a door to reveal a cluster of people clearly speaking in private. She immediately recoils into the hall. “Sorry, wrong room!” she chirps, but as she closes the door, she realizes who is in there. “Wait.”

She pushes the door open again to see a handful of Crescent wolves, heads tipped together. They’re all looking at her with wide eyes. Cody steps away to glare at her. “Do you mind? This is pack business.”

Ignoring him, she asks, “What’re you guys talking about? We’ve already established our battle plan.”

“Again with this _we_ shit.” Cody rolls his eyes. “This has nothing to do with you. It’s p—”

“Pack business. Yeah, I heard.” River steps fully into the room and crosses her arms. “Except whatever little scheme you’ve got going on here could very well get members of your pack killed, so it’s best that _we_ —all the supernatural communities of New Orleans—work together to defeat our common enemy.”

Cody steps closer, so he’s now glowering down over her. “I don’t care about the _common enemy._ We wolves can take care of ourselves. We don’t need vampires or witches saving us—we’ll be fine on our own. So you can take your opinion and shove it right up your ass. Ain’t nobody care what some packless bitch has to say.”

“Cody…” Someone says quietly behind him, but Cody waves them off.

River narrows her eyes and leans in. “I may not have a pack, but I have a whole city full of people who depend on me, just like I depend on them. _That_ is the vision of New Orleans that Rose died for. She sacrificed herself so that this city would be whole. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about New Orleans, or even the Crescents for that matter. You care about yourself, and whatever little power trip you’re on.” She shakes her head. “Here’s hoping it doesn’t get your dumb ass killed.”

“You stupid _bitch_ —”

Cody lunges forward, but he’s pulled up short by a sharp bark. “ _Cody_!”

Everyone turns to see Mary in the doorway, back straight and eyes cold. “You touch a hair on her head and our queen will pull your entrails up through your throat with her mind.”

Nostrils flaring, Cody huffs and storms back to the group. Mary addresses them all, “You heard Hope earlier. Ain’t nobody gonna make you fight a battle you’re not interested in fighting. It’s up to you. If you want to be a part of this city, like River said, then we got plenty of work to go around. If not…well, you know where the door is.” She gives River an inscrutable look, and then turns and disappears down the hall.

 

* * *

 

Cross-legged on her bed, Hope sits with her back straight and her eyes closed. Before long, she can feel the nearly imperceptible shift in the air that means she’s achieved her goal, and she opens her eyes. Her bedroom doesn’t look any different, but there’s a slight _wrongness_ that she’s come to recognize.

“Esther?” she calls out, pushing herself off of the bed and onto the floor. She peers around the corner to the balcony outside, but sees nothing.

“Hello, my child.”

Despite herself, Hope cracks a small smile and turns around. “I definitely see where my father gets his habit of making dramatic entrances from.”

Esther smiles back, still radiant in glowing white. “How may I help you, Hope?”

“This is it, isn’t it? The threat from outside the city?” Esther nods. “What do I do?”

“You protect those who matter most to you.”

“But what about…these are people, too. Humans. And even though they want to hurt the people I care about…”

Esther’s smile turns soft. “Sometimes it is easy to forget that you are not only a Mikaelson. You are certainly your mother’s daughter.”

“I try,” Hope replies wryly.

Esther settles gracefully on the edge of the bed, and Hope takes a spot beside her. Esther begins, “You have a choice to make, as we all do, during our lives. Sacrifices will be made today, and it is up to you to decide who should have to make those sacrifices.”

“What gives me that right?” Hope asks. “I’m just one person. These people have lives, families, futures—”

“This is what it means to be a queen, Hope.” Esther places a hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder. “This is what it means to lead.”

Hope huffs a tiny breath. “Is it too late to back out?”

With a laugh, Esther says, “I think so.”

There’s a long pause during which grandmother and granddaughter sit side by side in silence. Then Hope asks quietly, “What happens if I trigger my werewolf aspect tonight?”

Esther hums in thought. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Hope. I have never met a witch such as yourself, a witch who also carries the werewolf gene. This is excepting, of course, my own son, your father, who became vampire before either his witch or his werewolf abilities manifested, so it is impossible to use him as an example.”

“Right.” Hope nods nervously. “Right, yeah. We can’t really know.”

“I find that dwelling on our greatest fears does little to help us prepare for them.”

“Yeah.” Hope smiles up at her grandmother. “Thanks. For talking with me. For all your help since this whole mess started.”

“I believe I have rather a lot to make up for, considering…”

“Considering you tried to kill me before I was even born?”

“I was going to phrase it a touch more delicately than that.”

“Eh.” Hope waves dismissively. “Water under the bridge. I survived. That’s all that matters.”

“Yes,” Esther says, smoothing down Hope’s bright red locks. “You are surely a survivor.”

 

* * *

 

River wanders through the halls of the compound, munching on an apple. She watches people bustle this way and that, getting themselves ready to go out into the streets of New Orleans and fight the invading hunters. The compound echoes with the sounds of witches chanting protections into place, spells that will keep their enemies at bay. She tries to keep out of the way, has no idea what to do with herself in the midst of the chaos.

She feels a tug on her elbow, and turns to see her girlfriend staring at her imploringly. “C’mon,” she says, and without waiting for a reply, drags River into a closet.

Once the door is closed, Hope gropes around for the light switch. River blinks against the sudden flood of light, and quips, “I thought the whole point of us dating was that we didn’t need to be in closets anymore.”

“Har har.” Hope crosses her arms and looks River dead in the eye. “I think you should go back to Tallahassee.”

River’s jaw drops. “I’m sorry, what?”

“This is going to be bad, really bad, and these people have already tried to kill you once. I don’t want to risk them doing a better job of it this time around.”

“Now hang on—”

“ _Plus_ we know they’ve got Marcel’s venom on their side. If you die, members of my family might very well die with you. We only have the little supply of your venom left, and it’ll be hard enough going back and finding the other packs to get _their_ venom to add to the cure.”

“Hope!” River grabs her girlfriend by the shoulder. “Calm down.” Hope lets out a long, slow breath. “First of all, I can always go strap on that mask right now and give you some more venom to keep in storage for later. Honestly, I probably should have been doing that this whole time, now that I think about it.”

“Okay, but—”

“And second? I’m not going anywhere.”

“River—”

“I. Am not. Going. Anywhere.” River places her hands on either side of Hope’s face. “What kind of wolf would I be if I let this pack put their lives on the line for New Orleans without me? What kind of girlfriend would I be if I left you to face this on your own?”

“I _won’t_ be on my own,” Hope insists. “I’ll have my family.”

“Well, you’ll have me, too.”

“And what kind of girlfriend would I be if I have to tell your mother that you died in some conflict that you didn’t even sign up for?”

River rolls her eyes. “I _am_ signing up for it, dumbass, that’s the entire point I’m trying to make. You don’t have some kind of monopoly on wanting to fight for the things you care about.”

Hope stays quiet, and the two of them look at each other for a long time. Finally, Hope says, “Fine. But if you die, I’m gonna kill you, you understand?”

River knocks their foreheads together. “Ditto.”

 

* * *

 

[The moon hangs high in the night sky](http://bit.ly/pr2x13-1), and in the crooked shadows of New Orleans, hundreds of vampire hunters gather around the Mikaelson compound, indistinguishable from the tourists and revelers in the streets. They’re pressed up against the building, in the windows across the street, tucked into alley corners. Their numbers seem endless, and the weapons strapped to their bodies innumerable.

Ringing the building is a line of mostly women, Lorena at their head, none with weapons of their own. They join hands and bow their heads, and as one, begin to chant. “ _Libérer à vérité à. Libérer à vérité à. Libérer à vérité à.”_

And just like that, the assault on the supernatural communities of New Orleans begins.

 

* * *

 

Their forces are spread out throughout the compound, on every floor, in every room. No one is unarmed; whether with knives, shotguns, crossbows, fangs, claws, or magic, the dozens and dozens of supernatural New Orleans residents are fully ready for the guests at the gate.

“You ready?” River whispers to Hope, both of them standing on the first floor balcony, eyes locked on the entryway.

Hope can feel the wards placed over the compound dissolve; most of the witches with families chose to stay and protect their homes and other important locations throughout the city, which Hope couldn’t begrudge them. The small coven travelling with the hunters could easily dispatch of the protections— _and besides_ , Hope thinks, a smirk spreading across her face, _let them come_.

They hear the war cries before they see their attackers, and Hope murmurs to her girlfriend, “Let’s light ‘em up.”

It’s not so much an army as an ocean; waves and waves of hunters pour in, not just from the front gates, but from the windows, from the roof. They are _everywhere_ —Hope’s first instinct is actually to be impressed that a band of humans have managed to assemble such formidable forces.

But they were still no match for her city.

 

* * *

 

The slaughter starts immediately. Vampires tear into flesh, stakes whizz through the air, and the sounds of death provide the score to a shocking carnage. Hope manipulates her hands through the air, mumbling spells under her breath to keep these people that she loves so dearly safe.

River steps nimbly through the fracas that quickly spills up staircases and through doors. She watches Rebekah Mikaelson plunge her fist into the chest of a hunter and pull out his heart, as casually as plucking an apple from a tree. There’s a pair of witches spilling salt in circles on the stone floors, trapping hunters in their places so that the vampires have an easier go of things.

She spies Freya up ahead, twisting hunters’ heads around with the snap of her fingers. She runs up and shouts, “Where’s Amaya?”

“Someplace safe,” Freya replies, stretching out a hand to halt a line of hunters in their tracks. “She shouldn’t be anywhere near here.”

“No,” River agrees, watching the horror with wide eyes. “No one should.”

 

* * *

 

There are too many bodies in the compound. Even the expansive halls and high ceilings can’t stop the overwhelming press of skin to skin as vampires and witches and wolves fight for their lives against the inundating forces of the hunters. Hope spends most of her time shielding others from the hunters’ attacks, turning arrows and wooden bullets to ash in midair. She tugs a Ninth Ward witch out of the way just as a knife-wielding hunter comes gunning for her. She points to a cluster of vampires by the grand staircase. “Go help them!” she shouts to the witch, before turning to the next catastrophe.

She sees Kol up ahead, expertly fighting off a least two dozen hunters, and steps forward to help, but suddenly she’s flying through the air. She slams against the brick of the wall with a sickening thud, and flops down to the stone floor. With a groan, she pushes herself up. Her entire body throbs. She turns to get a look at her attacker, and a young woman with large, dark eyes is glaring at her from a corner. She recognizes her from Amaya’s description: Lorena, Sebastian’s witch.

Lorena quirks an eyebrow, an obvious challenge, and then disappears into the crowd. Despite the pain shooting through her body, Hope pushes herself off of the ground and chases after her. She twists down corridors, catching sight of the other witch just as she slips through the door to the tunnels underground. Hope pushes through the crowds to the door, which she wrenches open and, without a second thought, storms down the stairs into the bowels of New Orleans.

She hears laughter up ahead, and knows she’s being taunted—and doesn’t care. “So _you’re_ the great queen of New Orleans,” Lorena calls back with a mocking lilt in her tone. “I can’t believe a powerful witch like you would debase herself to ally with vampires and werewolves.”

Hope takes slow, deliberate steps, feeling her way through the dark tunnels. “I’m not their ally,” she says. “I’m their family. My parents, my aunts and uncles, my girlfriend—I don’t have the liberty of being cavalier with the lives of people who are different than me.”

She takes another step forward, and bounces off of an invisible wall. She quickly removes the magical barrier just in time to get hit with a force like a hammer in her stomach. She stumbles back as Lorena appears in front of her, hand outstretched. Hope whips her own out, and Lorena goes flying into the tunnel wall, hitting the clay with an _oof_.

“You’re killing innocent people,” Hope snarls. “People with lives, people with families.”

Lorena curls her fingers, and fire erupts in a circle around them, trapping them within a few feet of each other. “We’re killing _monsters_ —and monster sympathizers.” Her fist snaps shut, and Hope’s leg twists painfully.

She cries out, but then takes a deep breath and, with just a flick of her eyes, launches Lorena up into the ceiling. When the other witch crashes back down to the ground, Hope shouts, “I don’t want to hurt you, but unless you help me call this off, _I will_.”

Blood drips ominously from Lorena’s nose. “Keep it up. I can do this all night. When I’m done with you I’ll finish off your bitch girlfriend.” Hope stops breathing. “I saw _all_ about her in Marcel Gerard’s head. Get rid of her, get rid of the cure, right?”

Hope’s entire body shakes, a bone-deep, rattling shake that spreads from her core out to the tips of her fingers. Jaw set, she slowly lifts her hands, and in one swift move, blasts Lorena backward. The witch crashes through the fire boundary she’d created, and the force of Hope’s blast reverberates through the tunnel. She seethes, her breath coming too quickly, but she suddenly goes quiet when she feels the ground beneath her shudder.

And there’s nothing Hope can do when, before she can move, the entire tunnel collapses before her, caving in right on top of Lorena’s prostrate body.

 

* * *

 

Hayley finishes tearing off the arm of one hunter just in time to turn around and snap the neck of another. The floor is mosaicked with bodies, most of them hunters’, but some vampires, some wolves. The witches are mostly okay; she looks up to see them circling the topmost balcony, casting spells and enchantments as they spot opportunities to help.

She hears rapidly approaching steps from behind, and she whirls to confront her next attacker, but stops in her tracks when the ground beneath her feet trembles violently. She looks around, confused, and spies Klaus a few yards away, just as bewildered as she.

She zips away from her would-be assailant, appearing suddenly by Klaus’s side. “What was that?”

“No idea,” he snaps, grabbing a hunter by the throat and tossing him several dozen feet into a crowd of fighters. “It must have come from the tunnels.”

Hayley’s blood runs cold. “Where is Hope?”

Klaus freezes, eyes scanning the mayhem as his ears seek a familiar heartbeat. When he can’t locate her, he barks, “C’mon,” and the two shove their way through the battle to the tunnel entrance.

 

* * *

 

“Shit,” Hope breathes, falling to her knees at the edge of the mountain of rubble. “Shit shit shit shit _shit_!” She begins digging, grabbing hunks of clay and stone and tossing them behind her. Within a minute her hands are cut and bloody, and she suddenly remembers she has magic.

She raises her hands to lift some of the rocks out of the way, but she’s shaking so badly that she can only move them a few feet at time. She curses, and starts digging again.

“Hope?”

She doesn’t turn around when she hears a familiar voice behind her. “We have to get her out.”

Her mother appears by her side, panicked hands roaming her face and arms. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“She’s _in_ there,” Hope snaps unhelpfully.

Klaus examines the cave-in, confused. “Who’s in there?”

“The witch, Lorena. We were f-fighting, and…” She stares at her mother with wide, terrified eyes. “Mom, if she dies…”

Realization dawns on Hayley’s face, and she nods, “Alright. Let’s get her out.”

“Why?” Klaus shrugs. “Let her die. She is working with our enemies.”

Hayley’s voice is low when she says, “Klaus, we are not going to let our daughter be responsible for the loss of a life, _do you understand_?”

The pieces click together, and Klaus nods, and then the three begin digging their way through the collapsed tunnel.

 

* * *

 

Cody tears his way through the ruckus, fangs bared and heart racing. He rips hunters apart like they’re made out of paper, but more come, pouring in through every door and window like a flood. He slashes open chests with his claws and snaps necks like twigs. He _loves_ this, revels in the violence and the blood, and even though he’s starting to tire, even though it seems as though the battle is never going to end, he can’t get enough of it.

He spies a vampire, one of the daywalkers with a penchant for scaring wolf families when they first started to move into the Quarter, dispatching with a pair of hunters just down the hall from him. Cody bends down and snaps the leg off of a wooden chair, and when the vampire’s back is turned, charges for him. The vampire is so consumed with his next kill that he doesn’t notice the stake until it’s already been driven through his heart.

Cody smiles down as the vampire’s body begins to desiccate on the floor. He stalks off, a song in his heart, completely oblivious to the fellow Crescent watching him from the shadows, shock and horror on her face.

 

* * *

 

Between the three of them, the mountain of clay and rock quickly shrinks, but Lorena is still trapped inside, and has been for some time. Hope’s fingers ache with the work, but she’s desperate to get her out, to see that she is still breathing.

Klaus tosses a large hunk of rock to the side. “Shouldn’t we let this witch die, and let Hope trigger the werewolf curse?”

Hope looks at him, scandalized. “I could lose my powers if I become a wolf, Dad!”

“ _Or_ you could become the most powerful witch the world has ever known. Isn’t that worth the risk?”

Hayley narrows her eyes. “Klaus, for once in your endless life, _shut up_.”

“There!” Hope flings a few more rocks out of the way, and reveals a pale, still hand. Hayley’s extended claws dig the hole open further, and soon there is enough room for her to gently tug the top half of Lorena’s body free of its confines.

Hope leans in close. “She’s not breathing!” Her voice shakes with panic.

“Here.” Hope looks up to see her father leaning over her, his wrist outstretched. There’s a deep gouge in it, the blood running freely. Hope’s eyes widen in surprise, and Klaus nods. “If there’s a chance to save her, take it.”

Hope guides her father’s bitten wrist to Lorena’s still mouth. “C’mon,” she murmurs. “C’mon, please drink it. Please wake up.”

 

* * *

 

In a thousand years, Elijah Mikaelson has never seen so much blood.

It coats every surface, horizontal or vertical, of his family’s home. It drips from the walls, pools on the staircases. It is stained on the skin of dozens of bodies, some moving, some not, piled up like debris throughout the compound.

Elijah steps carefully, his suit jacket long abandoned, making his way through the aftermath of war. He bends down to check on people occasionally, mostly feeling nothing when he presses two fingers to their wrists. As he winds through the corridors, surveying the damage done to the home he just finished fixing from its last great battle, he spies a familiar face, resting in a corner, eyes closed.

He grabs Jordan by the front of his shirt and hoists him into the air, jarring the hunter awake. “What the hell?” Jordan gasps, struggling to get free.

Elijah’s grasp is firm. “Look at this. This carnage. This horror. This is your doing. This blood, blood unlike that which I’ve seen in my endless life, this blood is on _your_ hands.

“Few of your brethren remain. Collect them and leave, or the slaughter will continue.”

He drops Jordan to the ground and stalks off. Jordan glares at his back, stifling a groan of pain.

 

* * *

 

Hope’s blood runs cold as she stares at Lorena’s body, still and pale. Hayley places a tentative hand on her back, but Hope just stares, mouth ajar. Somewhere, in the back of her shocked mind, the thought spins: _When will it happen? When will I become—_

The gasp is so loud, so sudden, that even Klaus flinches in surprise. Lorena’s eyes fly open, and she gulps in large breaths of air.

“Holy shit,” Hope breathes, clutching at the girl’s arm to check for a pulse. She’s alive.

“You saved me,” Lorena coughs, pushing herself up. “Why did you save me?”

Hope’s face turns from relieved to grim. “Unlike you, and the rest of your people, I am _not_ a killer. I saved you, and in return, you’re going to listen, and listen good.”

 

* * *

 

Josh helps a fellow vampire to his feet, tugging the stake implanted just inches from his heart out of his chest. He looks around at the bodies strewn about all around him, and understands more than ever why this building was once referred to as the Abattoir.

He notices a young Crescent woman struggling to move, and in a blink is at her side. “Hey, I got you.” He slides an arm around her waist and lifts her up.

“Thanks,” she murmurs with a small smile.

The two are distracted by a sudden voice from above. “Hunters!”

Two floors up, looking down over the balcony’s edge, stand Jordan and Lorena, each looking considerably worse for the wear, flanked on all sides by the Mikaelson family. Lorena calls out, “To all of our hunters, who came here with hate in our hearts…it’s time for us to retreat.”

A few faces, bloodied and bruised, peer upward, expressionless. “Despite the damage done here tonight, we have been shown great mercy by Hope Mikaelson and her family. They are allowing us to take our dead and leave in peace.”

“Sebastian will be returning to us once we’re out of the state,” Jordan adds. “They’ve promise not to harm him, as long as we leave tonight.”

Silence reigns over the compound, and then one hunter, drenched in blood and limping, steps into view. He looks up at Jordan and Lorena, nods, and, without a word, hobbles toward the exit. One by one, the surviving hunters follow suit, and soon, the supernatural denizens of New Orleans are left to piece together their lives once more.

 

* * *

 

There aren’t too many casualties on the side of the New Orleans residents, but there are still bodies to identify, too-late goodbyes to say. The survivors come together in the courtyard, the fountain bubbling over with viscous blood, and sit in tired, mournful silence.

Not everyone is quiet, though. Cody bounds in from the kitchen, tearing into an apple with vigor. “That was fun, wasn’t it?” he asks the room. He’s met with blank stares. “Kicked those hunters’ asses. Won’t be messing with the Crescents any time in the future.”

More silence. Then a small voice says, “Wasn’t just the hunters you fought.”

Eyes turn to a Crescent woman, her jean jacket torn along one shoulder. Her gaze is steady on Cody, who squints back at her. “What’re you talking about?”

“I saw you. A few floors up. You staked a vampire.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. “What’s this?” River pushes her way into view, eyes bouncing from Crescent to Crescent. “What’s going on?”

Josh gestures to the Crescent woman. “She says Cody here staked a vampire during the fight.” A few of the vampires snarl.

River’s jaw drops. “Is that true?”

Beneath the bravado, Cody’s panic is becoming more evident. “Whatever. A battle’s a battle, the Crescents’ve got more enemies than just a bunch of half-assed vampire hunters.”

Some nightwalkers jerk forward in anger, but River storms past them. She shoves Cody into the brick of the compound wall, their feet sliding and knocking together on the slick floors. She lowers her fangs and extends her claws. “Get out,” she growls.

“ _What_?”

“Get out. Out of this house, out of this pack, hell, out of Louisiana for all I care. You are no longer welcome here.”

Cody shoves back, but he can’t shake River off of him. “You can’t tell me shit, little girl. You ain’t our alpha. You ain’t even a part of this pack.”

From behind them, the Crescent woman says, “Yes she is.” A few other voices chime in with their agreements, and River looks around in awe. “I’d follow her over you any day, Cody,” the woman says. “The Crescents needs an alpha who is brave, and intelligent, and fair, and kind, and lord knows you ain’t any of those things, Cody.”

River slowly releases her hold on Cody, and both of them stare at the Crescents who, one by one, step forward to show their support. Mary appears, Hayley right behind her, and says in a low voice, “You’re a threat to this pack now, Cody. To everythin’ we’ve been tryin’ to build here. It’s high time you left, and never came back.”

Scandalized, Cody gapes between Crescent and Crescent, finding no allies among the onlookers. He takes in the disgust on their faces—and the burning hatred on the faces of the vampires—and sneers, “Fine. See how well you do without me—without a _real_ leader.” And then he storms out, cutting a dangerous path through his now-enemies.

When his angry stomps fade into silence, all eyes turn once more to River, who looks back at her new pack with an inscrutable expression. They smile back, each with some degree of hopeful uncertainty. River clears her throat and says weakly, “I don’t…I don’t know what I’m doing…”

The Crescent woman steps forward and places a comforting hand on her arm. “That’s okay. We don’t know what we’re doing, either. We just need someone to help us figure it out.”

River’s eyes flick over to Mary and Hayley, who nod in encouragement. “Yeah,” she says, nodding herself. “Yeah, okay. Why the hell not?”

 

* * *

 

The early morning sun is dancing between the buildings of Chartres Street as the Mikaelson family gathers in Mama Rae’s, the tiny store owner unlocking her doors just for the war-weary group. With them are some friends; Marcel, Josh, Vincent, Mary, and Amaya take their seats at the table haphazardly composed of other tables, a makeshift banquet for warriors.

Hope plops down by the window, letting the sunlight warm her back, and River takes up a spot next to her, resting her head on Hope’s shoulder. Hayley and Elijah take seats side-by-side, Elijah already firmly pressed into a new, crisp suit. Josh and Kol swap stories as Mama Rae putters about, dropping plates of pastries and mugs of coffee and tea between the group.

“Got any bourbon to put in this?” Klaus asks with a wicked grin.

Freya appears at his shoulder, flask in hand. “Way ahead of you, brother.”

When everyone is settled, Hope gets up and raises her mug of coffee. “Hey everyone, I just wanted to take a minute to say…thank you. Thank you for putting your lives on the line to save this city, this city that birthed me, this city that means so much to each of us. I’m so glad that all of us came out the other side of this alive and…mostly unscathed.” She smiles at Vincent, who has a large gash down one arm, but is otherwise in one piece. “This family means everything to me, and having you by my side tonight…it was everything I’d ever hoped for.” She makes a face. “A little bloodier than I’d originally thought, but…”

The entire table laughs. Hope continues, “Tonight we proved that the dream of uniting New Orleans’s supernatural communities into one isn’t a fantasy. When we work together, when we _trust_ each other, we can do great things. I trust each and every one of you with my life, with the lives of the people I care about most—” She squeezes River’s hand, and receives a squeeze in return. “—and I don’t say that lightly.” She smiles. “I love you guys.”

Klaus raises his mug, now generously spiked with his sister’s bourbon, and says, “To New Orleans, the city that we haven’t quite figured out how to kill.”

Everyone grins, and raises their own mugs. “To New Orleans,” they chorus.

“And to family,” Hope adds. “Whatever shapes it comes in.”

 

* * *

 

[Hope and River walk arm-in-arm along the Mississippi](http://bit.ly/pr2x13-2) in Woldenberg Park, watching the brown pelicans swoop down toward the water. “So how does it feel?” Hope asks. “Being an alpha.”

River kicks a rock with her boot. “Weird. Probably not as weird as being the queen of a city, though.”

“Strangely enough, you get used to it.” Hope tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I bet there are some former Crescent alphas turning in their graves that their pack is being led by a Malraux wolf.”

“Well, packs are relative.” She squeezes Hope’s arm. “You’re my pack, and you’re not even a wolf.”

Hope wrinkles her nose. “No. That I am not.”

River asks softly, “How close did it get?”

“She wasn’t breathing when we pulled her out. My dad’s blood saved her. Saved _me_.”

“Do you really think you’d lose your access to magic? If you triggered the curse?”

With a shrug, Hope answers, “Maybe, maybe not. I don’t really want to find out, though. And besides, it’s not like…”

River peers sideways at her. “It’s not like what?”

“It’s not like I wanted to kill her. You did what you did out of self-defense, and obviously I’m glad that prick didn’t get to hurt you, but…I don’t know how I’d be able to get up in the morning if another witch’s blood was on my hands.”

River nods. “That’s fair. Sometimes it’s easier…I don’t know. It’s easier to pretend that there wasn’t a price to pay for being a wolf.”

“I can imagine.”

They walk along, heads tipped close together as they brave the unseasonable fall chill. After a minute, Hope says brightly, “I’m excited.”

River gives her a strange look. “For what?”

“For the future! For whatever comes next. For you to kick ass in school, for this city to continue to grow and change and better itself. For time with my family, and with you, and with the Big Easy.”

With a snort, River quips, “Can’t believe a city that secretly has regular massacres is nicknamed the Big Easy.”

“Hush. I’m being optimistic.”

River twists her head and kisses her cheek. “I’ll be optimistic with you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> This is the season two finale of People and Rhythm, and I wanted to first extend a sincere thank-you to everyone who has read and commented on this project of mine from the beginning. I have received such unexpected and kind support from this little community of readers, and it has genuinely changed my life forever. I cannot begin to describe to you how much your messages and reviews have meant to me. Thank you.
> 
> I'm also writing to let you know that I currently have no plans to write a third season. I do have a general plot idea for one—one I'd be very interested in writing, if I'm honest—but as for right now, another season just isn't in the cards for me. I recently started a new full-time job, and just last week I began my first semester of graduate school, so my time will be more limited in the near future. I also am hoping to begin an original (no pun intended) work in the new year, so any writing energy that might previously be devoted to fanfiction will be directed elsewhere. That being said, if the writing bug strikes hard and fast, you may just see more of Hope, River, and the rest yet.
> 
> Thank you once again for some of the most wonderful few months of my life. I am better for having known all of you.
> 
> Best wishes,  
> M.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to read the next and subsequent episodes of this story, please go to the Tumblr peopleandrhythm. New episodes will be posted Sundays at 8p EST, with short previews Fridays at 8p EST.


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